Come Rain or Come Shine
by ArthursCamelot
Summary: Sequel to My Last Breath. Katniss is the Mockingjay. Peeta is the tortured puppet of the Capitol. She is trying to be strong. He is simply trying to last the night. Eventually, they are reunited, but both of them have changed. Will they overcome their demons in order to defeat the Capitol and Snow? Or will another enemy prove to be their end? Strong T for dark themes. PK
1. On My Own

**A/N: I'm baaaaaaack! Woo! New story, here we go! I. AM. SO. EXCITED.**

**Can I just say how much I missed you guys? Yes? I. MISSED. YOU. GUYS. SO. FREAKING. MUCH.  
**

**There. I said it. I feel better now.  
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**Continuing on! _Come Rain or Come Shine_ is officially here, people, and as you can see I'm pretty giddy. This is my favorite story of the series, my best written piece, and I love it. And, of course, I really hope that you guys love it, too. Katniss as a character grows so much in this piece, but that's nothing compared to the journey that Peeta will take. The journey itself may be rough, but trust me . . . the glorious destination he will reach is, well, _glorious_.  
**

**And undeniably sexy.  
**

**But I'm getting off track.  
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**So! Alas, let's get to the chapter! I forewarn you, prepare for depression bordering on insanity. Also, I've decided to actually title my chapters now. All titles will be a song that I think pertains to the chapter. So, this chapter's title is "On My Own" which just so happens to be my favorite song from _Les Miserables_. :)  
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**Oh, and I'm doing something different with my disclaimers this time around! Hope you enjoy my conversations with fictional characters.  
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**Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.  
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**Me: Okay! Let's get going, people! Chop, chop! Katniss, why so frowny?  
**

**Katniss: You stole Peeta away from me! We could have had our reunion! We could have escaped together! But _no_, you had to be dramatic.  
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**Me: It was for the greater good, okay? Chill. As author I reserve the right to make you miserable.  
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**Katniss: And why couldn't we have cut out his tracker? Little oversight on your part, isn't it?  
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**Me: Honey, did I write you in possession of a knife? Or Peeta for that matter? I don't think so.  
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**Katniss: Of course Peeta had a knife!  
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**Me: I made him give it to Beetee, remember?  
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**Katniss: I will shoot you.  
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**Peeta: Uh, guys? Could you stop arguing? I'd kinda like to be rescued. This cell is kinda depressing.  
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**Me: *giggles evilly* I can stop arguing, however, I _can't_ rescue you just yet.  
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**Peeta: That's just mean.  
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**Me: I know. But it allows you to grow as a character. Now, Katniss! Show everyone how miserable you are!  
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* * *

Chapter 1: On My Own

_On my own, pretending he's beside me. _

_All alone, I walk with him till morning.  
_

_Without him, I feel his arms around me.  
_

_And when I lose my way, I close my eyes and he has found me.  
_

* * *

I stare at the empty pillow next to me. My hand rests where it always has, but instead of feeling a warm, strong chest beneath my fingertips, I feel the scratchy material of the bed sheets. Without his body lying next to me, the bed feels cold, no matter how many extra blankets I manage to swindle. Without him lying next to me, the bed is too big. Too lonely.

Peeta Mellark, my husband and father of my child, has been taken from me.

And yet, his ghost haunts me relentlessly. It whispers his words in my ear, filling my head with the sound of his voice. The whispers haunt me with memories of his warmth, his love, his kindness, and his courage. They remind me of everything good in the world. Despite how much the whispers hurt me, they're the only thing that is keeping me sane.

Funny. I'm hearing voices and it's keeping me sane. But it's not just any voice. It's Peeta's.

_I'll come back to you, I promise._

Burning fire. Exploding earth. I'm crying as Peeta wipes away my tears, his words filled with determination and yet I could tell that his heart was breaking along with mine. He promised. He'll come back. He promised he would find a way back to me.

To us.

My hand finds my stomach. It is no longer flat. There is a slight roundness to my stomach, a bump. I'm four months along now, eighteen weeks. The doctor says that I should be feeling a 'fluttering' in my stomach any day now. Every appointment my thoughts will stretch. I try to open a portal in my mind. I try to reach Peeta, so somehow he can share in the experience. Even though I hate my doctor's visits, I know that Peeta would love them. I can imagine the excitement on his face, the twinkle in his eye. And knowing this, being haunted by his whispers, always causes me to cry during the appointment. The first time I heard our baby's heartbeat. The first time I saw our baby's little grainy image on the TV screen.

Peeta wasn't there to smile. He wasn't there for his eyes to widen in excitement and awe. He wasn't there at all. He's not with me.

_And I don't know about you, but I would _gladly_ go through a hundred arenas if it meant that I could still share what was left of my life with you._

Damn you, President Snow. Damn you to the deepest pit of Hell.

You are the one who took Peeta from me. From _us_.

The whispers haunt me with their reminders. They remind me of how Peeta knew exactly what he was running into. The Capitol will hurt him. They will torture him for information, information that he doesn't really have.

_I know._

He knew. He knew and he still ran toward the Capitol's clutches. To protect me. To protect the baby.

_You're everything to me, you and the baby._

I try not to think of how he's suffering, and yet my morbid, taunting, cruel mind conjures the most frightening images and sounds. The whispers can't penetrate my conscious when the images take over. In the past month since escaping the arena, I've had plenty of time to think of different forms. Strapped to a chair, trapped, as electrodes attached to his body shock him violently. Shackled to the wall, helpless and defenseless as heartless Peacekeepers beat him until he's broken and nearly dead. Dangling by chains from the ceiling, his toes barely touching the ground, as masked men use their cursed blades to carve into his flesh. Chained to a table, unable to move and gasping for breath as they make him believe he's drowning.

And despite all these horrific images in my mind, they are not what disturb me the most. The crippling horror that threatens to consume me is the fact that no matter how gruesome the images in my head become, no matter what I imagine them doing to him . . . Peeta never makes a sound.

No, no, no, no! Get out of my head! The images threaten to overwhelm me. I clutch the bed sheets in my hands, kick my feet at unseen foes. I want to scream at the torturers to stop hurting him. I want to kill them all. I try to imagine them with one of my arrows sticking out of their eyes, but it doesn't help like last time. Peeta! Help me. Whispers! Save me.

_Will you stop worrying about me? _

_Everything I do, I do for you. _

_I love you, more than I could ever hope to describe._

"Peeta," I whisper into the silence of my room. "I can't do this without you."

_You have a strength that I will never know for myself._

I don't know, Peeta. I haven't been feeling too strong lately.

_You'll never be able to accept a compliment, will you?_

Nope. But my hands find my stomach once more, curving around the slight bump, and I force myself out of bed. The baby is the only thing that truly keeps me going. Everything I do is for the baby. My child is actually the one nurturing me, reminding me that a part of Peeta is with me, aside from his ghostly whispers. I know that it sounds as though I'm crazy, but I'm not broken. Cracked, maybe. But not broken. Not yet.

It's always worse in the mornings, when I wake up without him. I never realized how much that meant to me, how much that assured me. Knowing that when I woke up, Peeta would be there next to me. The empty bed is a stark reminder of his absence each and every morning.

I dress in the grey soldier's uniform of District 13, but honestly the roundness of my stomach makes me look ridiculous. A pregnant soldier. But here in District 13, once you reach the age of fourteen, you automatically join the military. They have a school system here, too, but once you hit that magic number, you're politely addressed as "Soldier."

As I step out of Compartment 313 into the tunnel-like hallway, I meet Haymitch. We don't say anything. I simply fall into step beside him and we step into the elevator at the end of the hall. I notice the trembling in his hands, and without a thought I take his hand in mine. District 13 has a strict no alcohol policy, forcing Haymitch into sobriety. He's lucky he started drinking a little less after mine and Peeta's first Games, otherwise I don't know how he'd be coping. Probably locked up in a room somewhere where he could suffer the withdrawal alone and without interference.

Haymitch doesn't snatch his hand away. He's tried before, but I never let go. He simply accepts it now, and sometimes, right before I let go, he'll squeeze my hand. Thanking me. We're silent sufferers, me and Haymitch. Both hurting because we lost someone we both love.

_I'll do anything to keep you safe._

Haymitch was there when I first woke up in the hospital, sitting by my bedside. Of course, I'd immediately burst into tears as the reality struck me. The fact that Peeta was gone. The fact that my drug-induced nightmares were, in fact, real. Haymitch let me cry myself out, and then started to slowly tell me of all that I had missed and what I had to expect.

He told me that not only was Peeta captured by the Capitol, but Johanna and Enobaria as well. Despite the fact that Enobaria is a Career and wouldn't have hesitated to kill me, I still pity her fate. Johanna though . . . Johanna I fear and worry for. A new friend she may be, but when you make a friend during the Hunger Games, it's a bond that few understand. Sometimes I'll imagine Johanna's screams of pain, too.

And then I'll hear her curse her torturers seven ways from Sunday. Disturbingly, the thought always makes me want to smile, even if I can never quite manage the quirk of my lips. It's simply so Johanna. Always fighting.

When I was let out of the hospital, I was allowed one week to 'recover mentally.' I'd laughed out loud when Haymitch told me, but it was a cold, cynical sound. They expected a mere seven days to be enough time for me to recover? To recover from watching Peeta run away from me into the torturous clutches of the Capitol? Knowing that if put in the same situation again, I would still let him go? They don't understand. They can't know what it's like. A week of recovery? No. There's no recovering from that. That night in the arena will always haunt me.

I allowed myself to wallow for the entire week. An entire week full of torrential tears, crippling sobs, and righteous anger. I screamed and I cried. Anger and despair. For one week, I allowed myself to feel every heart wrenching pain. And when that week ended, I was completely drained. I had settled into a state devoid of any true emotion. Sitting on the bed, holding my stomach, staring at the wall.

That was when I first heard the whispers.

_I'll come back to you, I promise._

The whispers reminded me that Peeta was fighting to come back to me. It was this knowledge that chased the void within me away, the emptiness. The crippling sadness, the desperate longing still existed but there was a will to fight. We were a team. If he was fighting then so would I. And so for nearly the past two and a half weeks since my 'week of recovery' ended, I have been campaigning to be allowed to go to District 12. I want to go home, just for a while.

Even if it's ashes.

When I blew up the arena and brought down the force field, the televisions in District 12 went black and the electricity was cut. The silence was so heavy that you could hear one another's heartbeats. For fifteen minutes all was still . . . and then the bombs were dropped. The Capitol hovercraft bombed everything, sparing only the Victor's Village. The Seam. The Town. Even the Justice Building. All gone. Charred, smoking, blackened remains are all that is left of my home.

I have to see it for myself. Maybe I'm a masochist, but I have to walk among the rubble. Something within me is compelling me to go back. Instinct. That's what I mostly rely on now. Instinct and the whispers.

The elevator doors open and I release Haymitch's hand. Plutarch Heavensbee and his assistant, Fulvia, immediately greet us. "Oh, there you are! Good morning, Haymitch." He turns to me. "How's our Mockingjay this morning?"

Mockingjay. That's what they want me to be. The symbol of the revolution. The one who wills the districts—who have officially declared war on the Capitol—to fight and lead them to victory. Propos. Speeches. Appearances in the districts. This is what they want from me. This is what they've been trying to convince me to do for the past two and half weeks. They talk and talk and talk. Plutarch and Fulvia. A variety of military officials. But not Alma Coin, the president of District 13.

She's a tall woman of about fifty or so with steel grey hair. I swear, it never moves from the perfect sheet that falls to her shoulders. Not a hair out of place. Not one split end. It's so uniform that it unnerves me. Sometimes, while everyone is talking at me, I simply stare at her hair and wonder if it's a wig.

Her grey eyes will study me sometimes. They're not grey like mine; they're too light, like the life has been sucked out of them. Not to say that she's lifeless. No. She's calculating. Always studying. She doesn't like me. She doesn't like that I've yet to give them an answer. I haven't agreed to be the Mockingjay.

I do have a will to fight, but at the moment it's too feeble. A mere spark that has yet to turn to flame. I'm too haunted by Peeta's absence. All I have to do is start mumbling incoherently, and they'll tell me that we'll continue our discussion later. My duplicitous mumbles are the reason I have a bracelet around my wrist that labels me as mentally disoriented.

I don't mind. After all, I am hearing voices. Just one, though.

"Fine," I answer. "Ready to go."

"Wonderful," Fulvia says, though you can tell that she's not too thrilled with me or my demand to see District 12. The smoking ruins of my home. "Let's get this over with."

Together, the four of us walk through an expansive aircraft hangar. It's full of different hovercraft and flying war machines. Anger at District 13 roils within me as I see the technology, the strength surrounding me. All this time, they had all of this, and instead of helping the rest of us, they hid behind their threats of nuclear missiles. I suppose they needed to rebuild their forces, but still. It angers me.

We enter a hovercraft, and I'm greeted with a very familiar soft smile that makes me feel both comforted and heartbroken. "Morning sweetcheeks," Rye says as he gives me a hug. It's selfish of me I know, but I hug him tight and close my eyes. And then, for a split second, I can almost trick myself into believing that Peeta is holding me.

_I love you. _

As always, at this thought tears threaten to form, so I pull away quickly. Still, I look into Rye's blue eyes, so like Peeta's, and manage a ghost of a smile. "Good morning, Rye."

"How's my little niece or nephew?" Rye asks as we get strapped into our seats for take off. "Any fluttering around in there, yet?"

"Not yet."

Rye is the one who goes to most of my doctor's appointments with me. Haymitch won't go near a hospital if he doesn't absolutely have to, and it's too awkward for Gale. I can't blame him. Prim comes with me when she is not working as a nurse in the hospital. My mother, well, that's a tale in itself.

You might be wondering how people like Prim, Gale, Rye, and my mother are still alive if District 12 is in ruins. The credit rests squarely on Gale's shoulders. As soon as the first bomb dropped, Gale ran out into the burning, exploding streets of the Seam, gathering up as many people as he could, including my mother and Prim. He herded them all to the Meadow, away from the coal dust and dry wood. He then formed a team and they pulled down the now harmless chain-link fence. Once the fence was down, Gale led the people into the woods, taking them to the safest place he knew of—the lake.

Gale managed to save nearly eight hundred people, the vast majority from the Seam. Few people from the town escaped. My friend Madge Undersee and her family didn't escape. They are part of the ashes that now decorate the ground of District 12. Joining them and countless others is every member of the Mellark family except for Rye.

I don't know how he's still alive. He doesn't either. He only told me the story once. How he and the rest of the family, including Chris's wife, had sat and stared at the blank television for a good five minutes. Even when the power went out, they just sat in the dark and stared, shocked by what they had seen. Then the house had shaken after a bomb exploded the next street over. The force of the blast knocked everyone to the floor, all of them dazed and confused as to what was going on and why. Rye was the first one to dart into the street, urging his family to follow him. Together they began to run. Rye swears he wasn't headed in any particular direction, but eventually they made it to the imaginary line that separated the Seam and the Town.

That was when Mrs. Mellark stopped running.

She refused to set foot in the Seam, despite the bombs that were being dropped and the dying, terrified screams of those around her. She remained resolute. She would rather die than step foot in the Seam. No matter how the rest of her family pleaded with her, she remained still, despite the quaking ground and fire surrounding her. Her imminent death.

Mr. Mellark was the one to break the stalemate. He ordered his sons and daughter in-law to run. Despite everything wretched that Mrs. Mellark was . . . she was _Mrs_. Mellark. His wife. And he wouldn't leave her.

Rye says it was the hardest thing he's ever done, but he grabbed Chris's arm and began pulling him and his wife along. Together, they continued to run through the burning Seam. Bombs were still being dropped and the three remaining Mellarks fell to the ground often due to the aftershocks. They had almost made it to the Meadow when a bomb dropped that didn't merely shake the ground, but literally blew them off their feet. Rye was thrown to the ground, yards away from where he'd been, and as he sat up to get his bearings, something fell from the sky, landing not three feet from him.

A hand. Rye doesn't know how, but he knows that the hand was his brother's. He looked all around him, but all he saw was fire and all he heard were screams. His family was gone.

Miraculously, Rye was unscathed except for some heavy bruising and a dislocated shoulder from landing so hard on the ground at such an angle. He was able to hobble to his feet and make it to the Meadow, and seeing the torn down fence, ventured into the woods, following the broken path through the forest made by the other survivors. He eventually caught up to them, and then Gale was the one to set his shoulder back into place.

By dawn the bombers were gone, and Gale had rounded up all the stragglers. Armed with only two sets of bows and arrows, a knife, and a fishing net, Gale and those who were able managed to provide enough food for the eight hundred refugees for three days. My mother and Prim set up a makeshift hospital, using whatever they could from the woods as their medicine. On the morning of the fourth day, District 13 arrived.

To those from District 12, 13 seems like a dramatic upgrade. Three guaranteed meals a day, even if they're rather tasteless, is heavenly. New quarters, even if they're underground, are heated and air conditioned. New clothes. Safe beds. They've escaped the hunger and starvation of District 12, the deadly whip of Head Peacekeeper Romulus Thread. To have a new home is somewhat fantastical, considering that they hadn't even known District 13 existed.

But I can't help but feel trapped. I've just switched clutches, though the snares of District 13 are much more deceptive than those of the Capitol and Snow. They want to use me for their own purposes, to promote their cause. Their cause that I thought was mine. But now I truly see what Peeta was trying to tell me. In war, people choose a side, to fight for what they believe in. Peeta knew that there had to be people who fought for what was _right_. Not everything is good versus evil. Black and white. Sometimes it is a shade of grey. Two opposing forces wanting to overthrow the other, one to keep power and one to gain it. You need a medium. You need to fight for what is _right_.

I may want the Capitol to fall, but that's not why I'm fighting. I'm simply fighting for what's right, and that's a safe world for my child.

_We'll find a way through this. You and me. Together. _

The trip to District 12 takes about an hour. It's a trip made in complete silence, despite Plutarch and Fulvia's attempts to start conversation. I'm absorbed in my thoughts, in the whispers. In the back of my mind, I realize that the whispers are my way of keeping Peeta with me, a coping mechanism. But that doesn't make them any less real to me. That doesn't mean that some mornings I don't wake up and feel the ghost of his arms around me. It doesn't mean that sometimes I don't feel the ghost of his lips against mine. These faint, fleeting feelings comfort me. They're keeping me sane.

We land in the Meadow, and the moment the hovercraft sets down I disentangle myself from the confining restraints of my seat. Rye gives me a hand, pulling me to my feet. We've yet to let go of each other's hands when Gale appears, and he eyes our joined hands warily before glancing at me. Rye and I let our hands fall to our respective sides.

I know the rumors. The past two and a half weeks, when I wasn't campaigning to go to District 12, I was typically with Rye. It's selfish of me, that because he reminds me so much of Peeta that I cling to him. The same blonde curls. The same blue eyes. The same broad shoulders. Some people think that I've simply moved on to another Mellark. I can't have one brother so I take the only other one available. I hate these people. They insult me with their ignorance.

I'm the only person that Rye truly knows that's not dead. His family save for Peeta is dead. All his friends. All his neighbors. The only person Rye has is me, and I won't abandon him. Screw what people think. When have I ever cared?

"You sure you don't want me to go down there with you?" Gale asks.

"I'm sure," I tell him. Some walks need to be made alone.

"Well, take this," Gale says, giving me an earwig. "I'll be on the other end, alright? If you want to go, just tell me."

"I will."

Gale and I really haven't had much of a chance to talk. He visited me in the hospital when he could, but he's busy with Command. And also, I don't think he really knows what to do. He hasn't said a word about his feelings for me, but I can tell that they're still there. It must be awkward to be in love with your best friend who is pregnant with another man's child.

"Be careful, Catnip," he says before heading back to the communications section of the hovercraft.

Rye watches him go and then turns to me. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"I really don't have a choice," I say before walking over to the ladder that will lower me onto the ground.

Haymitch is there, waiting. He doesn't ask me if I'm alright, or if I'm ready for this. He just says, "Find what you're looking for, sweetheart."

What am I looking for? As I walk down the ramp, I wonder. Am I looking for something? What am I hoping to find?

When my feet touch the ground, I simply stand there for a moment. I am home. The soil beneath my feet may be blackened and burned, but I am home. I begin walking toward where the Seam once stood. My old house. I want to see it. My father's house.

My foot kicks something heavier than a normal rock, so I look down at the ashen earth. A skull stares back at me. Wide, hollow eye sockets. Crooked, yellowed teeth. Coal-dusted bone.

For the longest time, I stare at the skull and it stares back at me with its sightless eyes. Death. I did this. My actions caused this. At this thought, my eyes leave the skull to look around me. Everything is black. Destroyed. The smell of rotting corpses fills the air. Some people were not lucky enough to be killed immediately by the bombs. Some were trapped in the fires. Some didn't escape the flames in time.

Buzzards are everywhere. On the ground. In the air. Eating their fill.

A tear falls. I do nothing to wipe it away. _I'm sorry_, I apologize. _I'm so sorry._

_It's not your fault._

Yes, it is Peeta. I may not have dropped the Capitol bombs myself, but it was my actions that prompted the destruction of my home. My actions that are responsible for the death of so many.

_It's not your fault._

Shut it, Mellark.

_Oh, great. You're calling me by my last name again. Never a good sign._

I close my eyes tightly as I feel an overwhelming sense of longing tinged with despair. What I wouldn't give to have Peeta's hand in mine. For him to be standing right beside me, to whisper these words to me in reality. His presence wouldn't detract at all from the horror surrounding me, but he would make facing it a little easier.

My hand finds my stomach as my eyes open. Peeta is with me. A part of him is with me, giving me strength. I resume walking. I stick to the roads, or what I can determine to be the road, until I reach my old home. I stand in the ruins, staring at the black ashes at my feet that are dirtying my boots. All that remains of my father's house are some blackened bricks from the chimney. It's from this reference point that I'm able to determine the rest of the house. I move to the place where Prim and I shared a bed. My eyes rove around, like I'm looking for something. I don't find anything.

So I move on.

My feet carry me through the streets. I try not to see the remains of the bodies around me. I try to ignore the stench of death in the air . . . the air that contains the ashes of the people of District 12. I immediately begin to cough.

I feel the need to retch, but I manage to push it back. I cover my mouth and nose with the collar of my shirt, and continue on. When I reach the town, my feet automatically begin to drift to the left. The bakery is gone, only a melted lump of metal remains—the oven. I stare at the demolished bakery, Peeta's home for so long. Memories of him, Rye, and Chris flit through my mind.

A slow day in the bakery, when I would sit on the counter as the Mellark brothers worked and played around me. Peeta and Rye's playful shoving and head slaps. Chris's amused scolding of the two of them. Handfuls of flour tossed at an unsuspecting blonde head. So much laughter.

Wrestling matches full of fun and competitiveness. Chris's eye roll at his younger brother's antics before he would suddenly grin and join them, tackling Peeta to the ground. Rye's disgruntled curses when he lost. Peeta's taunting smirk and quick wit.

_I've got better things to do than kick your ass._

I shake my head, my memories that were once shrouded in joy are now tinged with grief. Chris is gone. Peeta is being tortured. Only Rye is with me now, fraught with grief. I turn my back on the bakery. There's nothing for me there.

I pass the crumbled remains of the Justice Building. Blackened stone and smoking wood. Lumps of melted metal litter the square. The remains of Head Peacekeeper Thread's horrors. The stockades. The whipping post. The gallows.

The mayor's house is completely gone, like a bomb fell directly on it. There's nothing left. Nothing left of the Undersees. Just their ashes.

When I reach the entrance to the Victor's Village, it's nearly comical the contrast. Despite the hot summer heat, the grass is still green. Flowers still bloom. Full of life. No ashes. No smoke.

No death.

As I walk down the street, I wonder why the Village was spared. To give reporters a nice place to stay? Maybe. But I can't help but think that Snow purposely spared the Victor's Village. Another show of power. How he had control. Almost making it appear as though he had the power over life and death. The stark contrast of the rest of District 12 and the Victor's Village seems to prove my theory.

I stop walking when I'm standing in the middle of two houses. On my right is the house that is technically mine. On my left is the house that Peeta and I unofficially shared. Which house? Though my heart begs me to go into Peeta's house, I just can't face it. The memories. Not yet.

So I turn and bolt into my house. It's eerily quiet and still. Whatever I'm looking for, I know that at least part of it is here. My eyes land on the mantle of the fireplace. My parent's wedding photo. I take it gently in my hands and stare at my father's smiling face. The image comforts me, and I know it will make my mother happy.

I keep the photo in my hands as I continue to wonder around, looking for whatever it is I'm searching for. The stairs creak as I climb them, and the sound seems terribly loud in the silent house. I make my way to my room, and when my eyes land on my closet, I immediately know what else I came here for.

My father's hunting jacket. I'd left it in the house for my mother, just in case I died in the Quell. I wanted her to have it. On the floor of my closet is my game bag and I take it too. I carefully place my father's jacket and the wedding photo in my game bag. I'm still for a moment as I realize that I can't delay my trip to Peeta's house, _our_ house, any longer. I know that the moment I walk through the door I'll be assaulted with memories that will both comfort and torment me. But it's something I've got to do. I march myself out of the house, closing the door firmly behind me, readying myself to face whatever is to come.

But nothing could have prepared me for the sight that meets my eyes.

Sitting on the front porch of the house that Peeta and I shared for the majority of a year . . . is Maya. Without a thought my feet carry me toward her and she lets out an excited yip as she bounds to meet me. I fall to my knees just as she reaches me and wrap my arms around her neck, burying my face in her dapple grey fur. Tears pour down my face, but for once, it's not because I'm sad. For the first time since breaking out of the arena, a little flutter of happiness lightens my heart, and I smile. A genuine smile.

"Hey, girl," I whisper. "Oh, I've missed you."

Maya just licks my face. I wonder how she survived the attack. Perhaps she'd been in the Victor's Village. Maybe she'd already been safe in the woods. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that she's alive. My furry friend.

Maya starts to sniff and look around, searching. My smile falls. "He's not here," I tell her, my heart constricting in my chest. "Peeta isn't here."

_I'll come back to you, I promise._

I get to my feet and stride toward the house. Whatever I'm looking for is in the house, I know it. Maybe it's not even anything tangible. Maybe I just need to be surrounded by things that he touched, that he created, that he loved. I open the door and then shut it behind me once Maya is at my side, and then I'm immediately thrown into a memory.

The first time I brought Maya to the house, my written proclamation of love folded in my pocket, marching determinedly up the stairs, ready to confront Peeta—only to be asked a question that had nothing to do with our previous argument.

_Why is there a dog in my house?_

I move into the living room and see the fireplace. Another memory. Curled up in front of the fire after a day in the snow. Our toasting. Our perfect moment.

_I am not most guys._

My eyes spot the plant book lying on the coffee table, and I pick it up and turn to a random page. Immediately, my attention is focused on a yellow flower, so precisely and beautifully drawn that it looks real. I gently trace the image with my fingertips, and then close the book and put it in my game bag.

I take a brief tour of the kitchen, running my hand along the oven that Peeta used so often, supplying me with all my favorites, most notably cheese buns, though when we learned of my chocolate craving I had a steady supply of chocolate muffins. Once he even made me brownies.

I feel a smile tug at my lips.

However, any thoughts of smiling vanish as I climb the stairs. Even Maya's presence by my side isn't enough to comfort me. With each step I climb, the claws around my heart sink a little deeper. So many memories.

I pause at the second door on the left, his art studio. I debate going in, if only to see his paintings, but he was so private about them. I don't want to see something he didn't wish for me to see. I had my woods. He had his art studio.

So I continue down the hallway until I reach our bedroom. My eyes make a quick sweep of the room. So many memories. There's an odd smell in the room, but I ignore it for a moment. I move to the dresser and open up a drawer full of his clothes. Tears threaten to form in my eyes when I see his favorite blue shirt. My favorite blue shirt. The one that we constantly stole back from each other.

_I have many shirts for you to steal._

With trembling hands I pick up the shirt and hold it to my face, breathing in the scent. It still smells like him. Warm cinnamon. I inhale the scent and feel myself relax. It's the first tangible connection I've had to Peeta in a month.

I place his shirt and a few others in my bag.

That smell tickles my nose again, and though the aroma is sweet, it's terribly repugnant. Slowly, I turn away from the dresser to face the bed. A bed that holds so many cherished memories. Tears, laughter, and love. So much love.

_Fantastic things happen in this bed._

A choked gasp escapes me. Lying in the middle of the bed, perfectly pristine, is a single, white rose. I stare at it with wide, horrified eyes. A punch in the gut from President Snow. It's a message to me. A menacing one that promises revenge. But what is infinitely more telling is the placement of the rose. On our bed. My safe haven. A place where so much love was shared.

And he's defiled it.

I know what he wants this rose to accomplish. He wants it to break me. He wants me to think of Peeta and how he's been taken from me. The gruesome torture that is being inflicted upon him. He wants me to crumble.

But I refuse to crumble. I refuse to break. Something within me comes to life. A fire. A blazing, white-hot fire. I recognize this feeling. An angry strength, a steely determination—a will to fight.

_You possess a strength that I will never know for myself._

President Snow has made a grievous mistake. This was one step too far, and he's going to pay. This taunt, this insult will not stand. The fact that he has taken Peeta from me, split us apart.

_You're fierce in your desire to protect what's yours._

It's in this second that I make a decision. I'll give Snow the fight of his life. I will be the Mockingjay. My first order of business?

I'm getting my husband back.

* * *

**You go, girl.**

**See? It's not too terribly depressing, is it? Katniss is proving to be as resilient as ever, but for how long will she be able to keep this strength? Guess we'll find out, won't we?  
**

**And I know that it sucks that Peeta is not present, but I hope that you can feel his presence in the chapter, in Katniss's thoughts. Don't worry, I'll have a few dream sequences so we get a little PK time . . . of course . . . that's not to say that that time will be particularly happy . . .  
**

**Anyhoo! One chapter down, and the summary for said chapter is as follows: Katniss has developed a mild case of Peeta-induced schizophrenia, Peeta is partying it up with Snow and having a poker night with his guards, Rye is fueling rumors of an Everlark split, Gale is hopelessly devoted, Haymitch is actually sober because Coin stockpiles alcohol in her office, and Plutarch is . . . well, let's not even go there . . .  
**

**And our line from Chapter 2 comes from . . . Rye!  
**

**"Sorry to interrupt your death glare showdown, but can we focus on the conditions?"**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	2. Hall of Fame

**A/N: Wow, guys! Once again, you have completely blown me away with your reviews. Seriously, you need to tone down your awesomeness. I'm getting overwhelmed. But on second thought . . .  
**

**Yeah, keep overwhelming me. ;)  
**

**I am _beyond_ thrilled that all of you enjoyed the first chapter. I've been getting a lot of questions about when Peeta will be back in the story. So I guess I'll answer that question now. Peeta will return in Chapter 11, I do believe. So . . . there's a little bit of a wait, but some things you just can't avoid. Regrettably.  
**

**Now, let us continue with the story! This one actually has a little bit of humor in it . . . at the very end . . .  
**

******Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******Peeta: Chapter 11? I'm not back until Chapter 11?!  
**

******Me: Peeta, darling, you have to understand . . .  
**

******Katniss: What is there to understand? Do you _like_ making everyone miserable?  
**

******Me: Well, if you remember our last conversation about this . . . yeah, I have that right.  
**

******Rye: Hey, guys! What's going on? This is cool! See? You think I'm talking right now, but it's really AC. Because, you know, we're not real. She decides everything we say.  
**

******Haymitch: Bullshit.  
**

******Me: *giggles*  
**

* * *

Chapter 2: Hall of Fame

_Standing in the Hall of Fame_

_And world's gonna know your name  
_

_Cause you burn with the brightest flame  
_

_And the world's gonna know your name  
_

_And you'll be on the walls of the Hall of Fame  
_

* * *

When I enter the hovercraft, Maya standing loyally by my side, I'm met with an array of stares. Plutarch and Fulvia simply stare at Maya, awed and fearful. Gale is studying me, and I see a small smile tug at his lips. Rye looks at me, and for the first time in a month I see a glimpse of that playful sparkle in his eye.

Haymitch holds my gaze, expressionless, but I see the smile in his eyes. "Good to have you back, sweetheart."

I take my seat and Maya follows me. We're all silent as the hovercraft gets into the air. Everyone is a little tense. There were a lot of strings pulled to get me out here. A dozen invisible hovercrafts had floated around District 12 while I'd been on the ground. Tactical crews keeping an eye on me. After several minutes, Plutarch has a conversation with one of the pilots, who says that the airspace is clear. We all relax a little.

Plutarch then takes a seat on a cushioned bench under a window. He studies me and then glances at Maya. "Your dog?"

"Wolf."

His reaction is comical, but he merely nods his head slightly and says, "Oh." Still, he and Fulvia stay on the opposite side of the hovercraft.

Rye leans down and whispers rather loudly, "I think they're scared of the big, bad wolf."

My lips twitch as I fight a smile.

Gale comes to sit by me and eyes my game bag. "What else did you bring? Aside from the wolf."

"My mother's wedding photo and the plant book," I answer. "And my father's hunting jacket."

I don't tell him about the handful of Peeta's shirts that I took as well. He doesn't need nor want to know. "How's it look down there?" Rye asks quietly.

"Couldn't be much worse." Rye, Gale, and I all share a look, seeing our own grief mirrored in each other's eyes. Our home is gone.

We sit in silence for the rest of the time, and my mind wonders to Peeta. Is he surviving? How is he coping? My heart aches at the thought of him alone in some cold, dank, dark cell. Bloody and beaten. _Just hold on, Peeta._ How I wish that he could somehow hear my thoughts. _Live for me._

I wonder about the other captured victors. Johanna. Is she still fighting? I honestly can't imagine her doing anything else. Enobaria. Because she's a Career who obviously had no part in the break out, was she granted leniency? I don't know.

Then there's Annie Cresta. I didn't learn of Annie's capture until a week or so ago. That was the first time we had any new intel about the prisoners from Plutarch's sources at the Capitol. At first, I hadn't been able to place Annie, but after a moment's thought her image solidified. A beautiful, dark-haired girl screaming as they announced her name at the District 4 reaping. A girl who was driven mad when she saw her district partner beheaded in the arena. She only won because a dam broke, flooding the arena, and she was the best swimmer. My heart had wrenched for her plight.

But Finnick's heart had broken.

I didn't understand at first, why Annie Cresta's capture hurt Finnick so deeply, but Haymitch had filled me in. Finnick Odair, the womanizing sex symbol of the Capitol, was in love with a mad girl. Annie. He could have any girl he wanted, but he fell in love with Annie Cresta.

News of her capture halted his recovery drastically. Although his body healed from the massive shock he sustained when the force field blew, his mind is full of torment, his heart full of a despair that I am all too familiar with. I visit Finnick in the hospital, in the psychiatric wing. He sits on his bed, his fingers constantly tying knots with a string of rope, staring into space. I simply sit with him. He knows that I'm there with him, offering support. We're both in the same situation. We both know how the other feels.

Although I see Finnick often, I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen Beetee since the break out. The moment he was well enough to sit up on his own, they literally wheeled him down to the Special Weapons department. Beetee was more than willing, ready to invent anything useful to the cause. I've only ever seen him at meal times.

From the air, District 13 looks a lot like 12. The ruins are no longer smoking, but there is no apparent life above ground. No, for the past seventy-five years since the Dark Days, all work has been done underground. Apparently, there was already a substantial underground system that they basically inherited. It was supposed to be used as a secret hideaway for government officials in a time of war, or if life on the surface became unlivable. Now it is simply the home of the people of District 13. There have been a few times in the past where they almost died off, but they always managed to pull through due to frugality with resources, strict discipline, and constant vigilance against any other attacks from the Capitol.

I don't know how the people of 13 are comfortable with living almost exclusively underground. You can go outside for exercise and sunlight, but only at the specific time in your schedule. Schedules are very important here in 13. It's almost like a science. There's a machine in everyone's quarters that you stick the smooth side of your forearm under and then your schedule for the day is tattooed onto your arm in purple ink. It tells you exactly how you will spend every single hour of your day, and it's very important that you stick to your schedule.

So, naturally, I blatantly ignore it.

_I don't think you'll ever do what _anyone_ says. But that's only one of the many reasons why I love you._

My lips twitch as I fight a smile at the whisper, but at the same time my heart swells with longing. I want Peeta right beside me, to tell me these things himself. I'm tired of relying on memories. I want to create new ones, with him, sharing the moment. Flames of determination flicker within me. I will get Peeta back.

The hovercraft lands on the launch pad, and I immediately head for the stairs. Maya trots faithfully beside me, sniffing at her new surroundings. She gets wide-eyed looks but no one comments. I go down three flights of stairs before I stop and turn to face them.

"What's going on?" Rye asks.

"I'm going to be the Mockingjay."

Haymitch's expression doesn't change, but his eyes narrow ever so slightly in that calculative way of his. Gale has a small smile on his face in approval, while Rye is frowning in concern.

"What about the baby?" he asks. "You can't go out and fight."

"I won't." I'm not endangering my child like that. Besides, I'm only getting bigger as the days pass. I won't be too much good in combat a few months from now when my walking is more of a waddle. "But I can still do propos here. All they want is a face, right Haymitch?"

Haymitch nods. "Predominantly, yes. But you can't just accept this blindly, sweetheart. If you do you're just handing yourself over to Coin. You've got to show your power."

I frown. "What do I do?"

"You have conditions," he replies. "And you'll only be the Mockingjay if those conditions are met. If you're going to be a threat to Coin, then you need to come right out and show it."

"Threat?" Gale questions warily. "No offense to you, Catnip. But you're not much of a threat in your . . . condition."

My eyes narrow. From my perspective, I have never been more dangerous.

"Not physically," Haymitch snaps, as if Gale is focusing too much on the surface of things. "Katniss is the one who moved the nation to act. Not Coin. The people look to Katniss for guidance. They look to her for courage and hope. The people love Katniss, not Coin. If we win this war, a new government will be put into place."

"And Coin will want to be president," I realize.

"Exactly," Haymitch nods. "They say that if we win we'll revert back to the government of our ancestors. Democracy and elected officials and all that crap. But Coin? All she wants is power." Haymitch pauses to let his words sink in. "And you're the only one who could take that away from her. If we win and you speak out against Coin, who do you think the people will follow?" Me. "Coin knows that if you speak against her, she loses her chance. You're a bigger threat to her than Snow and all the Capitol."

Unease settles within me. Coin's cold, pale grey eyes studying me—calculating. She can't be plotting to . . .

As if sensing my train of thought, Rye says, "What? You think Coin will try to kill her?"

"Yes and no." Haymitch's hands twitch and I know that if he could, he'd have his flask in his hand. "Katniss is the face of the revolution. If she dies, especially since she's pregnant, the revolution will die." He looks at me. "You're their hope, sweetheart. And so is that kid," he adds, looking pointedly at my slightly distended stomach. "New life and a new world and all that sappy stuff. Coin can't afford to lose you right now."

"But after I have the baby . . ." I begin and Haymitch nods.

"You're fair game," he says, looking more serious than I've ever seen. "Soon as you have the kid, Coin will send you out in the field. Friendly fire is always tragic, but it happens."

Gale looks like he wants to argue. "I can't see Coin doing that . . . she's driven, sure. But we all are."

"Driven?" Rye questions Gale, raising his eyebrows. "Seriously? Look, I don't know people like my little brother does, but even I can see that she's too cold. She's just like the president but with a lot less flair . . . probably because of that stick that's so far up her ass."

I know that it's not the time to laugh, but I can't help the bubble of laughter that escapes me. Rye meets my eyes and gives me a smile. Since the bombing, he has mellowed out a lot. He's grown up. Of course, there was always a hidden maturity to him that was concealed behind his pranks and jokes, but now that mature side of him is much more prominent. But still . . . I'm glad that he can still make people laugh.

Haymitch nearly rolls his eyes at Rye's words, but nonetheless nods in agreement. "Mellark's right. Coin only wants power." He looks at me. "We may be out of the arena, but the Games are still going. We've just traded one lion's den for another, and we've got to play this right."

I nod. In the back of my mind, I'm wondering how long Haymitch has been analyzing our situation, looking for motives and duplicity. Probably since the moment he stepped into 13. He was already plotting while I was absorbed in grief and loss. I suppose Haymitch knows how to deal with loss much better than I do, since he's lost so many tributes to the Games. And even if he cares for Peeta as his own son, Haymitch is so analytical that he would have put all his energies into plotting to get him back and protect me than wallow in sorrow.

"Okay." I take a deep breath. Just another conversation about people wanting to kill me. "So what exactly do I do?"

"State your conditions," Haymitch repeats. "It's a small power play, but it shows that you won't roll over and be her puppet. Your main issue is that you can't let Coin realize that you know her endgame. Play up the grieving, pregnant widow act."

My eyes narrow. "I'm not a widow," I snap at him.

Rye raises his hand. "Sorry to interrupt your death glare showdown, but can we focus on the conditions?"

"Might want to make Maya one of them," Gale says, eyeing my pet. "They'll probably see her better as a stew than as a companion."

Maya whines, and I begin to absently scratch behind her ears. "Right."

"What made you want to be the Mockingjay, anyway?" Rye asks.

My eyes narrow as I suppress my rage. "Snow left me a rose."

Gale frowns in confusion. "What?"

"In 12," I explain clipped. "He left a rose on the bed. He's taunting me."

"So what's your final condition?" Haymitch asks, though I know the he already knows.

"We rescue Peeta," I reply determined. "And all the other captured victors."

Rye whistles. "That's a tall order. Think she'll go for it?"

"She doesn't have a choice if she wants a Mockingjay."

Suddenly, Gale's communicuff begins to beep. It looks like no more than a large, metal watch, but a communicuff receives printed messages. They're only given out to important people, a status Gale achieved by saving so many people in 12. He looks at me and Haymitch. "They want us in Command."

"Perfect," I reply. "Let's go then."

We find the nearest elevator and then descend down to the correct floor. For the first time, as we traverse the winding hallways, I feel confident. Maybe it's just the sheer level of determination and anger that is fueling me, but I feel as though I'm in control. I want Peeta back. I need him. Despite how brilliant Peeta is, engineering his own escape from the Capitol prison is probably nearly impossible. If I want Peeta to keep his promise to me, then I'm going to have to be proactive.

I'm organizing how I'm going to present my arguments to Coin when we step through the door of Command. It's a large rectangular room, full of blinking lights and moving images. The walls are covered in bright, talking computer screens that show troop movements and electronic maps of each district. In the middle of the room is a large, shiny metal table that's covered with control panels I'm not supposed to touch.

I expect to see the war council and Coin and all the other higher-ups sitting around the table, but instead they are all standing huddled under one of the television screens; one that is always tuned into the Capitol's programming. They usually reshow the bombing footage of District 12 and other war propaganda, so I'm wondering what could be so important that everyone has left their seats to get a closer look.

Plutarch looks up and notices me, waving me over hurriedly. Warily, I make my way through the throng of people until I'm right in front of the screen. I'm surprised to see a very familiar figure. Caesar Flickerman, the host of the Hunger Games, sits in his chair on the stage, wearing his eternal blue, twinkle light suit. Compared to what I've seen on the screens, this is almost entertaining.

Until the camera pulls back to show his guest. A strangled sound between a gasp and a sob escapes me, and one hand touches the screen while the other comes to rest on my stomach.

Caesar's guest is Peeta.

Similar gasps of shock echo around me, but I barely hear them. My entire focus on the screen. Peeta. I study him intently, looking for any sign of the torture that the Capitol has surely inflicted on him . . . but I see nothing. He looks stronger than ever and his skin is glowing and flawless in that full-body-polish way. However, there's something in his eyes; a haunted, weary look that only I can probably see. Outwardly, he looks very composed. Serious. But he can't hide from me. He may not look like the battered, bloody man that haunts my mind, but he has suffered. My heart clinches.

Caesar gets the ball rolling. "So . . . Peeta . . . welcome back."

Peeta gives Caesar a small smile. "I bet you thought you'd done your last interview with me, Caesar."

"I confess, I did," Caesar admits. "The night before the Quarter Quell . . . well, who ever thought we'd see you again?"

You weren't supposed to. We were supposed to escape together. He's supposed to be with me.

"It wasn't part of my plan, that's for sure," Peeta says ambiguously with a frown.

Caesar leans toward him slightly. "I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was," he says. "To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen—"

"—Mellark—"

I can't help but smile slightly at the correction. "Forgive me," Caesar apologizes. "So that your wife and child could survive."

"I wasn't going to let them die," Peeta answers seriously, his eyes still shining with determination.

"Naturally," Caesar agrees before pausing, letting the silence settle, and then saying, "But it appears that other people had plans as well."

Yes, we did, Caesar. The rebels.

"Why don't you tell us about that last night in the arena?" Caesar suggests. "Help us sort a few things out."

Peeta nods, but doesn't jump right into things. He takes his time. He paints a picture. "That last night . . . to tell you about that last night . . . well, first of all, you have to imagine how it felt in the arena. It was like being an insect trapped under a bowl filled with steaming air. And all around you, jungle . . . green and alive and ticking. That giant clock ticking your life away. Every hour promising some new horror. You have to imagine that in the past two days, sixteen people have died—some of them defending you. At the rate things are going, the last eight will be dead by morning. Save one. The victor. And your plan is that it won't be you."

The room is utterly silent as Peeta speaks, absorbed in his words. No one has ever described what it's like in the arena, and certainly not with so much description. The way Peeta speaks, his words prompt your brain to imagine every detail. Everyone is equally eager and anxious to hear more.

"Once you're in the arena, the rest of the world becomes very distant," Peeta continues. "All the people and things you loved or cared about almost cease to exist. The pink sky and the monsters in the jungle and the tributes who want your blood become your final reality, the only one that ever mattered. As bad as it makes you feel, you're going to have to do some killing, because in the arena, you only get one wish. And it's very costly."

"It costs your life," Caesar says, but Peeta shakes his head.

"Oh, no. It costs a lot more than your life. To murder innocent people?" Peeta pauses, letting his words sink in. "It costs everything you are."

I'm thrown into memories. The two times I've comforted Peeta in the Games after he killed someone. The boy from District 4 in our first Games and then Gloss in the Quell. _You'll always be Peeta_, I would assure him.

"So you hold on to your wish," Peeta says. "And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss."

A hot jungle full of flame and exploding earth. Panicked, yet determined words. Tears from both of us . . .

_Please. Be safe. Let me do this. I'll come back to you, I promise. But you've got to let me go._

"When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I remember everything in flashes. Trying to find her. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself. She was calling my name . . . and then the lightning hit the tree, and the force field around the arena blew out."

He doesn't go on to say what else happened. How we ran from the Capitol hovercraft and then how Peeta left me to draw them away so I could be safe . . . because Panem doesn't know that it happened. The Capitol cut the feed as soon as the District 13 hovercraft was spotted, taking Finnick from the arena. As far as Panem knows, Peeta and I were never reunited, however briefly.

"Katniss blew it out, Peeta," Caesar reminds him. "You have to admit, it looks slightly suspicious." Like the tactful host that he is, Caesar allows his statement to ruminate before asking the million dollar question. "Was Katniss part of the conspiracy?"

My heart pounds in my chest. What will Peeta say? Will he tell the truth? Will he give a partial truth? Or will he lie? He must have anticipated this question.

Peeta takes a deep breath and looks down at his feet. Then, he looks Caesar dead in the eye and says, "Yes. We both were."

This sends the audience into a state, though it's not angry necessarily. There are no shouts of fury, but rather confusion. They don't understand why Peeta and I would be rebels. I can hear the people behind me murmuring, but I don't pay attention to them right now. I'm wondering how Peeta is going to play this.

Caesar gets the audience to quiet, and asks, "So you knew of rebel's plan to break out of the arena?"

"Yes, but nothing more. We knew that the force field had to be brought down, but we didn't know exactly how."

"Katniss knew," Caesar tries to argue gently, but Peeta shakes his head.

"Katniss is a smart girl," he says with a small, fond smile. "You could see how she was trying to figure out what to do with that wire."

Caesar seems to accept this before asking the question that must be on every Capitol citizen's mind. "Why join the rebels?"

Peeta sighs, looking tired. "I shouldn't have," he says, shocking me and everyone in the room. "We shouldn't have, but you've got to see things from our perspective. We survived the Hunger Games, and everyone seems to love us and is happy that we're together. Then we get engaged and later had our toasting. Everything seemed to be going right . . . and then the Quell was announced. Katniss had no choice but to go back into the arena, and I wasn't about to let her face it alone. Both of us were determined that the other was going to be the victor." Tears glisten in Peeta's eyes. "And then we found out about the baby. I was more determined than ever that Katniss be the victor, but there was still a chance . . . there was still a chance that in the arena, maybe I wouldn't get to her in time. Maybe I wouldn't be there to save her. Maybe she'd get caught by surprise and then not only do I lose the only girl I've ever, or will ever love . . . I lose our child as well. The idea that Katniss could escape the arena, that she and our child could be safe . . . it was hard to ignore."

"But you said that you shouldn't have become a rebel," Caesar points out and Peeta nods. "What are your thoughts on the war, now?"

Peeta looks directly at the camera before he begins to speak, his words laced with so much persuasion that even I'm inclined to believe him. "I want everyone watching—whether you're on the Capitol or the rebel side—to stop for just a moment and think about what this war could mean for human beings. We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer; our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that—what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?"

"I don't really . . . I'm not sure I'm following . . ." Caesar stammers confused.

"We can't fight one another, Caesar," Peeta explains. "There won't be enough of us left to keep going. If everybody doesn't lay down their weapons—and I mean, as in _very soon—_it's all over, anyway."

"So you're calling for a cease-fire?"

"Yes," Peeta answers tiredly, and I see the haunted light return to his eyes. I know automatically that these aren't Peeta's words. He's been forced to say them by President Snow. Because even though most rebels will simply let his words pass, some of the other district's support is more tenuous. They might be swayed by Peeta's words. They sound so reasonable coming from Peeta, which is exactly why Snow is using him to deliver his message. "I'm calling for a cease-fire."

"Now can I go back to my quarters?" Peeta asks. His hesitation is only fractional, but _quarters _appears to be synonymous with _cell_.

"Alright." Caesar looks toward the camera. "I think that wraps it up. Now, back to our scheduled programming."

The music of the anthem plays and then there's a woman reading off the shortages in the Capitol. Fresh fruit. Solar batteries. Soap. But I can't focus on that. I can only focus on Peeta and his words. Peeta admitted to being involved with the rebels, that we were both involved. It's not that much of a big deal, really. It's the cease-fire he's called that worries me, condemning both sides of the war. With only minor victories by the rebels so far, a cease-fire would only result with a return to our previous status under the Capitol. Or worse. There is no way that Peeta could have protected me with his words this time. If the rebels lose, I'm dead. Not even the image he's painted of me, a desperate, young mother trying to save her unborn child, will save me from Snow.

But I have more important things to worry about right now. The present. And at present, the higher-ups of District 13 are tossing about words like _traitor_, _liar_, and _enemy_. All of them are accusing Peeta of betraying 13. I feel a hand wrap around my arm and pull me up. Haymitch's calculating eyes meet mine.

"If you don't do something, Peeta's dead either way," he says to me. "Make your demands."

I nod curtly, filled with determination. I'm getting Peeta back. It's not up for debate. Everyone is still arguing and condemning Peeta. They've moved to surround the main table, and I see Coin sitting at the head, her face an emotionless mask as she talks to those around her coolly.

I'm wondering exactly how I'm going to get everyone's attention, but when I hear yet another person call Peeta a traitor, I snap. "No he's not!"

The fact that my voice is strong and I'm not mumbling incoherently is what causes everyone to pause and stare at me. "He has called for a cease-fire," Coin says in her cool, calm tone. Steely. "He is a traitor to the cause."

"Not he's not," I nearly growl. "Snow made him say all of that. Everyone in here knows that Peeta can sway a crowd. Anything he says seems reasonable. Every single one of you in here knows that."

"Well, it's obvious he isn't being tortured," one of the war commanders says. "He's no prisoner of war."

"Yes, he is," I say firmly.

"And who says that this was filmed live?" Haymitch speaks up in his best 'you're all idiots' voice. "It could easily be old footage and they're just airing it now. The kid had that full-body-polish look. Same treatment you get right out of the arena."

"His words can still carry consequences, whether forced or not, and we have no intel that tells us he is a prisoner of war," Coin says impassively. "This could easily sway some of our more timid districts."

"I want him back," I say firmly. "Send in a team and rescue him."

Coin's gaze hardens, probably because I just have her an order. "No."

My fists clench, and I'm about to shout at her when Haymitch intervenes. "Fine," he says and I glare at him. "Don't send in an extraction team. Instead, promise that when we win the war, he will be pardoned."

Everyone is silent, watching the tense battle unfold. Me and Haymitch against Coin. "No form of punishment will be inflicted," I say, breaking the tense stalemate. If I can't get her to rescue Peeta, at least I can get him immunity. "The same goes for the other captured tributes: Johanna, Enobaria, and Annie." I can't forget them. Especially Johanna and Annie. I miss my new friend, and I can't stand to see Finnick cry.

"No," Coin says flatly.

"Yes!" I slam my hand down on the table, startling everyone. "It's not their fault you abandoned them, and it's certainly not Peeta's. He's the one who ran toward the Capitol hovercraft to draw them away from me. To save me."

"Then he made his own choice," Coin retorts coolly. "They'll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit."

"They'll be granted immunity!" My voice is stronger than it has ever been, resonating throughout the room. "You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District 13 and the remainder of 12. Soon. Tomorrow. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety!"

Coin's eyes narrow dangerously, but I hold my ground. Finally, she says, "And why would I do that?"

"Because," I reply evenly. "If you agree, I'll be your Mockingjay."

A buzz of excitement fills the room. I will give them what they want . . . but only if I get what I want.

Plutarch is the first to speak. "What do you say, President?" he asks. "You could issue an official pardon, given the circumstances. The boy . . . he's not even of age."

I continue to glare at Coin as she stares impassively back at me. Finally, she says, "Alright. But you better perform."

"I'll perform when you've made the announcement," I shoot back.

"Call a national security assembly during Reflection tomorrow," she orders. "I'll make the announcement then. Is there anything else, Katniss?"

"Yes," I say, though with a little less intensity in my voice. "I get to keep Maya."

It's as if everyone in the room just noticed her presence. They stare at her, sitting almost regally by my side, meeting their gazes unfazed. I feel the urge to smile at the sight. Coin's lips purse. "Only if we can use her. We have our own K9 unit, bomb sniffing dogs most predominantly. If she can't be trained or causes any problems, she'll be shot."

"I can teach her," I tell them and Coin nods.

"Fine. Anything else?"

I think quickly. Is there anything else? What else could I possibly want? If there's anything, now is the time to ask. I won't get another chance. All my brain can think of is Peeta, and how I want him back. Suddenly, my mind is filled with the image of a single, white rose lying on our bed in 12.

The words slip from my mouth unthinkingly, "I kill Snow."

Coin actually smiles slightly. "When the time comes, I'll flip you for it."

I guess that's the best I'll get, so I nod in reply.

"We'll start work tomorrow morning," Plutarch says to me. "We've already got a propo lined up."

"Okay," I agree before casting a look around the room. "Is that all?"

"You're dismissed."

I walk out of the room quickly, Maya trailing after me, along with Haymitch, Rye, and Gale. Once we're in the elevator, Rye presses the button for our floor, and I slump tiredly against the wall. "You did good, sweetheart," Haymitch praises gruffly.

"We'll work on getting Peeta out of the Capitol," Rye says. He's just as determined to get Peeta back as I am. "At least we've got him immunity. That's a step in the right direction."

"Nice idea with forcing her to make the announcement public," Gale says. "Makes it that much harder for her to go back on her word."

We're all silent for the rest of the ride. Gale and Rye's respective compartments are closer to the elevator, so they say goodbye first. Then it's just me and Haymitch when we stop at the door to my compartment. My mother and Prim are in 307, just a few doors down. 13 wanted to put us all in one compartment, but I had refused. One, because I didn't want to wake them up with my nightmares. And two, I am counting on the fact that Peeta will be sharing my compartment with me when I get him back.

"Get some sleep," Haymitch orders gruffly.

"Right," I agree before adding in my best Effie Trinket voice. "Because we've got a big, big, big day tomorrow!"

Haymitch struggles to keep a straight face, trying not to show his amusement, but it's a losing effort. Finally, he allows just one chuckle to escape him, and honestly it's the first true laugh from him that I've ever heard. Not filled with derision or cynicism.

But his moment of lightheartedness passes quickly and then he's scowling like normal. "If you show up in a big-ass wig tomorrow morning and four-inch heels, I'll disown you."

I just smile. "Get some sleep, Haymitch."

Haymitch scowls again before passing me and continuing down the hall, but I swear I see his lips quirk up in a ghost of a smile.

Once I'm in my compartment, Maya starts sniffing around before finally hopping up onto the bed and lying down, right in the middle. I roll my eyes. She's such a bed hog.

I let her be and step into the bathroom, turning on the shower. As I stand under the hot spray, I can't stop thinking about the recent turn of events. So much has happened today. This morning when I woke up, I was still focusing and relying on the whispers. Then I saw the ashes of District 12. The rose on the bed, fueling my fire to fight. And now, I've guaranteed Peeta's safety . . . if we win the war . . . if he survives the torture chambers . . .

I remember his interview with Caesar, when he'd talked about his plan for the Quell. _I wasn't going to let them die. _Me and the baby. He's always so willing to sacrifice himself.

"I never asked you to die for me," I can't help but whisper aloud.

_You didn't have to._

When I step out of the shower, I dry off and move to my game bag. I take out the blue shirt, pull it on over my head, and then climb into bed beside Maya. However, before I allow myself to sleep, I reach over to my government-issue nightstand and take out a silver parachute. Inside used to be three things. The ointment, the locket, and my pearl. I only have the pearl, now. District 13 confiscated the ointment for hospital use, and I gave the locket to Rye because it held a picture of him with Chris and his father.

I roll the pearl in my fingers, mesmerized by the smoothness. Peeta's little token of love. My hand fists around the pearl, and I lie back against the pillows. The scent from Peeta's shirt slowly begins to envelope me, so comforting that I can almost pretend that he's lying right beside me instead of Maya.

_Go to sleep, Katniss._

And I do, knowing that I'm one step closer to getting him back.

* * *

**Ta da! Peeta now has immunity. It wouldn't at all make sense for Coin to automatically give in to Katniss's demands, especially rescuing Peeta. That's why Haymitch cut in, because he saw that was what would happen.  
**

**So, this chapter wasn't nearly as depressing as the last! That's a plus, right?  
**

**Alas, the summary for this chapter is as follows: Katniss is back in black and has dreams of becoming the next Effie Trinket, Gale is still stuck in the middle, Haymitch thinks everyone around him is an idiot, and according Rye, Coin needs to make an appointment with her doctor to remove the stick up her ass . . . that's probably turned sideways . . .  
**

**So! Quote from next chapter comes from . . . Prim!  
**

**"I know this is hard to hear . . . but even if they break his body, they'll never be able to break his spirit."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC**


	3. Suspicious Minds

**A/N: Alas, here we are for the third chapter! This means we're one chapter closer to getting Peeta back!  
**

***happy dance*  
**

**So! Once more, I must bow in awe of your awesomeness. All these reviews? You're killing me, guys. With love. It's epic. Please, do continue. :)  
**

**********Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

**********Me: Places everyone! The chapter is about to start!  
**

**********Katniss: Is there a scene where I'm actually happy?  
**

**********Me: Um . . . sorta . . . it's a happy moment tinged with sadness.  
**

**********Peeta: That makes no sense.  
**

**********Me: I know, I know . . . and yet it's true.  
**

**********Prim: Hey! I make an appearance this chapter! Isn't that cool? Oh, and AC . . . where's Buttercup?  
**

**********Me: (laughs nervously) Buttercup? You mean that hideous, mangy old cat that for some reason you find loveable?  
**

**********Katniss: Yeah, I still don't understand that.  
**

**********Me: (nods in understanding) Personally, I'm a dog person.  
**

**********Prim: You still didn't answer my question.  
**

**********Me: Yeah . . . about that . . . He's dead, Jim.  
**

**********Haymitch: Who the hell is Jim?  
**

**********Me: (face palm) Right. Wrong fandom. My bad, guys.  
**

* * *

Chapter 3: Suspicious Minds

_We're caught in a trap_

_I can't walk out  
_

_Because I love you too much, baby  
_

* * *

I stand in front of the door to compartment 307, the new home of the Everdeens. My mother and Prim. A pang of guilt hits me because I know I haven't visited nearly as often as I probably should have, but I was so consumed with Peeta's sacrifice and haunted by nightmares of his torture that most days it was hard enough to get out of bed, especially during my first week out of the hospital. Then I spent the majority of my time after that listening for the whispers and campaigning to see the ruins of District 12. I should have made more of an effort to see my family, especially considering that they actually saw our home burn.

Tentatively, I knock on the door. Seconds later it opens to reveal my mother, and we stare at each other for a moment before she steps away from the door, allowing me to enter. My relationship with my mother has regressed back to how it was before the reaping of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. Except this time, it's not I that holds the resentment. It's my mother. Though maybe resentment isn't the best term. More like a mix of anger and disappointment.

She's not exactly thrilled that she's going to be a grandmother. After returning from my first Games, she had said that though she thought Peeta was a nice boy, I was too young to have a boyfriend. So, naturally, the fact that we were engaged nearly six months later wasn't a great cause for joy. She never said anything of course. Confrontation isn't my mother's way. The closest she ever got to a confrontation was after the Harvest Festival and she tried to get me to stop sleeping with Peeta. Of course, I told her that it wasn't going to happen, and as I'd known she would, my mother had relented. But I do think that my mother thought that there was one line that I wouldn't cross, and that was allowing myself to get pregnant. Maybe it's because of my frigid stance on the subject for so long, but my pregnancy genuinely shocked my mother. And now she's been giving me the cold shoulder since we came to 13.

"I brought some things from the house," I say to her. "When I went to 12 yesterday."

I reach into my game bag and hand her the wedding photo and the plant book. My mother takes the photo first, trailing her fingers over my father's picture. "Thank you, Katniss," she says gratefully, her eyes shimmering with tears. She places the photo and the plant book on the dresser, and I turn to Prim, who has been sitting on the bed, silently watching the exchange between me and our mother.

"I looked for Buttercup," I tell her. "But I couldn't find him."

"You found Maya, though," Prim says with a sad smile, and I feel guilty that my pet survived and Prim's didn't. Even if I loathed that miserable, ugly creature she called Buttercup, Prim loved him dearly. "It's okay, Katniss. Really. Where is Maya?"

"She's with Gale," I reply. "I can only keep her if she's trained to sniff out bombs and stuff. Apparently, they have a K9 unit. Gale took her down there this morning."

Prim nods, and my mother clears her throat delicately. "Well, I'm needed at the hospital," she says and then without another word walks out the door.

Prim and I are silent for a few moments when Prim says, "She'll get better," she assures me. "She's just shocked."

"Yeah, well so was I." I retort, my hand coming up to rest on my stomach. "It's not like we planned it."

I take a seat beside Prim on the bed and we're both quiet for a moment before Prim asks, "Is it true? That you agreed to be the Mockingjay?"

"Yeah." I rub my stomach absently. "It's the only way I can get Peeta back."

"Did you do it just for him, or because you want to help the cause?"

I sigh. "Maybe both? But it's mostly for Peeta. The Capitol aired an interview of him with Caesar Flickerman, and Peeta explained what happened the last night in the arena." I pause, remembering how wholesome he'd looked, even if it couldn't hide the pain in his eyes. "He admitted that we were both rebels and knew about the break out. But then he called for a cease-fire . . . and everyone thought that he was a traitor."

"Snow just made him say that," Prim says sharply, looking angry. "Peeta would never side with the Capitol."

I smile, knowing that Peeta would be touched that Prim thinks so highly of him. "I know that. But Coin was going to try him as a war criminal if we win the war, and I couldn't allow that. I wanted them to rescue him, but they shot me down. Then Haymitch suggested that they offer him immunity, and they eventually agreed. We included the other captured victors as well."

"So what will they make you do?" she asks hesitantly. "I mean, they wouldn't send you out there, would they?"

"No," I shake my head. "I don't think so, and if they try, Haymitch will make them reconsider."

Prim laughs a little. "It's not good to be on his bad side."

"Everyone is on his bad side," I say dryly before adding with a fond smile, "Except for you, little duck."

"You're smiling again," Prim points out softly. "It's nice to see."

Of course, at her words my smile falters, and Prim takes my hand comfortingly. "It's just so hard, Prim," I confess quietly. "Without him with me I'm just . . . lost. And I hate it. I feel like I'm being so weak, but I can't help it. It's like a part of me is missing, and there's this huge, gaping hole within me. It hurts."

"A part of you _is_ missing, Katniss." Prim squeezes my hand. "Peeta is your other half. I know that I'm much more of a romantic than you are," she adds with a delicate blush. "But I don't think that you're being weak. I think you're being really strong. A weak person would have already crumbled. You're still fighting, Katniss. And Peeta's fighting, too."

I cringe as I think of how little 'fighting' Peeta can really do. Flashes of chains and shackles and other restraints flit through my mind quickly, along with the ghostly anguish of a pained scream. Prim cuts through my thoughts. "Katniss," she says sharply, drawing me back. "Peeta is strong, you know that. How else could he have survived all that he has?"

Memories invade my mind. Peeta _has_ survived a lot. In our first Games, he survived the battle at the Cornucopia, and he wasn't as skilled then as he is now. He fought Cato and survived that terrible cut to his leg. He fought through all of those mutts and survived. Then in the Quell, after being revived, he still had the strength to run from the fog and fight off all those monkeys even though he was most likely on the brink of collapse.

"I know that you and Peeta are practically polar opposites," Prim says softly. "But you're both alike in the fact that you can endure." I try to be comforted by Prim's words, even if by 'endure' she means that Peeta can endure the torture inflicted by the Capitol. "I know that this is hard to hear," she says before taking a deep breath and looking me right in the eyes. "But even if they break his body . . ." I choke on a sob. ". . . they'll never be able to break his spirit."

The truth in her words causes my heart to break and lift at the same time. Break, because I can't stand the image in my mind of a broken, bloody, and beaten Peeta. Lift, because I know that Prim is right . . . the Capitol will never manage to break Peeta's spirit, his iron will.

I manage to control the tears that threaten to fall. "You're right," I nod. It's mindboggling to think that Prim has become so wise, so mature. The times and recent events have forced her to mature too quickly. I wish she could be an average thirteen year old girl without any worries of death and destruction, but I can't deny that Prim already had a pureness about her. Always able to see to the heart of things. "Thanks, Prim."

"I'll always be here," she says with a small smile.

I check the schedule on my arm and see that I'm due to meet Plutarch and Fulvia. The Mockingjay duties begin today. It's with this thought that I stand, knowing that I can't just ignore the schedule on my arm any longer. I have to work to get Peeta back. I can't fail him.

"I better go," I say, though my hand pauses on the doorknob when Prim speaks up.

"Just know, Katniss," she says softly. "I still think that love is the most powerful force in this world, a strength that can't be beaten."

I feel my heart clinch. "Let's hope it is."

Walking through the winding hallways of District 13 always makes me uneasy. The light is too artificial, reflecting dully off the grayish walls. Everything down here is grey, projecting a lifeless atmosphere. District 13 is simply sullen. Strict and serious. I hate to think the riot Rye would cause if he pulled one of his infamous pranks.

The thought almost makes me smile.

"Hey, Katniss." Gale appears by my side. "Took Maya down to the K9 unit. You should have been there. She scares the hell out of the other dogs."

"Of course," I say simply. "She's better than they are and she knows it."

Gale shakes his head. He doesn't really understand my attachment to Maya, how I practically treat her as though she's a person. It's just that I formed so tight a bond with her after my first Games, when I felt alone and misunderstood. It was nice to have a friend who didn't judge me and just accepted me for who I was. And no matter what I did, she'd still love me unconditionally.

"Yeah," Gale replies noncommittally. "Anyway, the woman down there, Lieutenant Caine, she trains them. Maya wouldn't do a thing for her though. Just sat there and stared. It was kind of funny," he can't help but smile wryly. "You're going to have to go down there later if you want to keep her from being shot for incompetence."

"I will," I say. "After I see what Plutarch wants. My mockingjay duties start today."

Gale nods. "Figured they would. It's already circulating that Coin is making the announcement today during Reflection."

"Good."

We reach the doors to Command, and haven't stepped a foot through the door before Plutarch and Fulvia descend. "Oh, there you are," Plutarch says. "Excellent, excellent."

"So what am I doing, today?" I ask without letting any of the anxiety I feel leak into my voice.

"Yes, well, first off, we're so happy to have you on the team," Plutarch says as he reaches out to the side where Fulvia is already handing him a sketchbook bound in black leather. Absently, I note that it's something Peeta would like. "You know in general what we're asking of you, Katniss. I'm aware you have mixed feelings about participating. I hope this will help."

He gives me the sketchbook, and I curiously open the book to the first page. What I see shocks me. I'm staring at a picture of myself. I look powerful and strong, dangerous and gorgeous in a black uniform. It looks rather bland at first glance, but when I look closer, I see the brilliance. The swoop of the helmet. The slight curve to the breastplate. The slightly billowed sleeves that allow for a fringe of white to show underneath. Once again, he's turned me into a mockingjay.

"Cinna." His name escapes me in a pained whisper. It was last week when Plutarch told me his sources revealed that Cinna had died in interrogation. In other words, he was tortured to death. The reminder causes my heart to clinch as I think of Peeta and how he may share in Cinna's fate.

_It'll be alright, Katniss. Don't worry about me._

I'm drawn from Peeta's whispers when Plutarch speaks, "He made me promise not to show you this book until you'd decided to be the Mockingjay on your own," he says, referring to Cinna. "Believe me, I was very tempted." I've yet to move from the first page, so he encourages me, "Go on. Flip through."

I do and watch as Cinna shows my outfit in all its facets. He's truly outdone himself. The extra layers of body armor to cover my vital organs. Hidden weapons in my boots and belt. Special reinforcements over my heart. But it's the last page that makes me teary. Cinna has drawn a picture of my mockingjay pin, and beneath it has written, _I'm still betting on you._

"When did he . . . when did he design these?"

"Let's see. Well, after the Quarter Quell announcement," Plutarch thinks. "A few weeks before the Games maybe? There are not only the sketches. We have your uniforms, though he had to do some quick alterations once he learned of your pregnancy. Oh, and Beetee's got something really special waiting for you down in the armory. I won't spoil it by hinting," he says, as if he thinks that it's the first thing I'll respond to after his spiel. A weapon? What would a weapon matter to me right now? Even if it's one of Beetee's creations?

I'm more focused on the fact that Cinna, one of my truest friends, is still helping me even in death.

"You're going to be the best-dressed rebel in history," Gale says with a smile, but I'm in no mood to smile. His expression falters to one of concern when he sees the sadness that I'm trying to hide. I give him a subtle shake of my head to tell him not to worry.

"Our plan is to launch an Airtime Assault," Plutarch informs us, completely missing mine and Gale's nonverbal conversation. "To make a series of propos featuring you, and cast them to the entire population of Panem."

I nod. Haymitch warned me and Peeta of this beforehand, before we even left for the Capitol.

"How?" Gale asks. "The Capitol has sole control of the broadcasts."

"But we have Beetee," Plutarch counters with a smile. "About ten years ago, he essentially redesigned the underground network that transmits all the programming. He thinks there's a reasonable chance it can be done. Of course, we'll need something to air. So, Katniss, the studio awaits your pleasure." Oh, joy. Me and cameras. Best friends, we are. "Fulvia?"

"Plutarch and I have been talking about how on earth we can pull this off," she says, sounding exasperated by the trouble I've caused. "We think that it might be best to build you, our rebel leader, from the outside . . . _in_. That is to say, let's find the most stunning Mockingjay look possible and then work your personality up to deserving it!"

I pretend that she didn't just insult me, however subtle it was. But honestly, I'm wondering how I'm going to pull off 'stunning' with my acid damaged hair, scarred skin, and let's not forget the fact that I'm _four months pregnant_.

"You already have the uniform," Gale points out.

"Yes, but is she scarred and bloody? Is she glowing with the fire of rebellion? Just how grimy can we make her without disgusting people? At any rate, she has to be something. I mean, obviously this . . ." Fulvia waves her hand up and down in front of me. ". . . won't cut it." I glower at her and she flinches. "So, with that in mind," she finishes quickly. "We have another little surprise for you. Come, come."

"Wait, wait, wait," I say quickly, already seeing flaws in their dream plan. I admit that all of this image stuff and how I'm presented isn't my thing, and I don't pretend to know a lot about it. Peeta was the one good with the cameras, but even I can see how much this plan sucks.

"What is it?" Fulvia asks confused.

"You can't make me scarred and bloody," I tell them, and they look at me like I'm crazy. They may be rebels, but they're still from the Capitol. "I'm _pregnant_," I remind them. "You can't scar and bloody a pregnant woman. It's just . . . not right. And grimy? Again, pregnant. That's not going to work either."

Fulvia gaps for a moment, like a fish out of water, before spluttering, "Well, then what can make you into?"

"Let her be herself." We all turn to see Haymitch, who is eyeing Plutarch and Fulvia with a look that clearly shows he doesn't have much faith in their intelligence. "You can't dress her up and make her into something she's not. She's a seventeen year old pregnant girl whose husband is being tortured by the Capitol. She's young. She's vulnerable. But she's strong, and she's got fire. Don't take away from that."

I think this is the closest I'll ever get to a compliment from Haymitch.

"Right, of course," Plutarch agrees after a moment, much to Fulvia's disgruntlement. "Yes, I can see your point. A more natural approach, yes, I can see how that would work better. We'll be able to make the adjustments, I'm sure."

Haymitch merely stares at him, his arms folded across his chest as he watches Plutarch squirm under his glare. My lips twitch as I fight a smile. It's good to have Haymitch on my side.

"So," Fulvia coughs delicately. "With that in mind, we have another surprise for you, Katniss."

She waves us through the door and we follow her to the elevator. Haymitch, however, doesn't get on board. "See you in the studio," he says gruffly before the doors close, blocking my view.

Plutarch presses a button on the elevator, but we don't move. He checks his notes. "Let's see. It's Compartment Three-Nine-Oh-Eight." Plutarch presses the button marked _39_ yet again . . . and we still don't move.

"Maybe you have to key it," Fulvia suggests.

"Ah, yes." Plutarch produces a key from his pocket that is attached to a silver chain. He inserts the key into a slot that I've never noticed before and suddenly we're moving downward. "There we go."

The elevator continues to descend, further than I really knew it could. We go down thirty levels, leaving me wondering just how humongous is the underground network of District 13. Finally, the doors open to reveal a bright, white hallway. Too bright. It reminds me of the bright white suits of the Avoxes in the Capitol. The white walls and floors of the Launch Room. Immediately, goosebumps cover my skin, and I clutch Cinna's sketchbook to my chest.

The white corridor is lined with bright red doors, looking far too similar to fresh flowing blood for my liking. Too many bad memories. I don't like this place. I want to leave. I want Peeta with me. He should be here. He should be with me.

I edge slightly closer to Gale due to my perturbed discomfort, and if he notices he doesn't say anything. When the elevator doors shut behind us, I notice a steel grate that descends over the regular doors. We pass the blood red doors, each marked with a black number, and I vaguely catalog them in my mind. _3901, 3902, 3903 . . ._

A guard suddenly materializes in front of us, looking stern and suspicious. A door on the far end of the hall swings shut. It must have been the room he came from. Plutarch immediately moves to greet him, waving jovially, though the guard's expression merely darkens slightly. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. There's something wrong with this place. I don't want to be here.

Why do I have the feeling like I've been transported to the Capitol?

I look up at Gale, to see if he's getting the same bad vibe I am; something that has to do with more than the claustrophobia from being so far underground or the sharp smell of antiseptic or the reinforced doors and elevator. His eyes have narrowed slightly. Gale senses it, too.

Plutarch and Fulvia are apparently oblivious. "Good morning!" Plutarch greets the stony-faced guard. "We were just looking for—"

"You have the wrong floor," the guard interrupts sharply.

Plutarch frowns in confusion. "Really?" He pauses to check his notes. "I've got Three-Nine-Oh-Eight written right here. I wonder if you could just give a call up to—"

Again, the guard interrupts. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave now. Assignment discrepancies can be addressed at the Head Office."

Compartment 3908 is just ahead of us to my left. I study the door quickly, noting that there is no door knob, so it must swing free on hinges. In fact, none of the doors in the corridor have knobs. Something isn't right . . .

"Where is that again?" Fulvia inquires.

"You'll find the Head Office on Level Seven." The guard extends his arm, as to usher us back to the elevator, and I willingly turn to go, ready to be away from this perturbing place.

And then I hear it. A whimper. It's not an animal sound. It's human. And it's a human whimper that I've heard before many times in the days leading up to the Quell. My eyes meet Gale's for only a second, but it's long enough for two people that know each other as well as we do. I drop Cinna's sketchbook to the floor, and the resulting _smack _the leather-bound book makes against the floor resounds throughout the corridor. The guard leans down to retrieve it, and Gale does as well, purposely bumping heads with the guard. "Oh, I'm sorry," Gale apologizes, but I'm not really paying attention.

I'm already moving past the distracted guard to door 3908. I push against the door and stumble into the room, causing three frightened, skinny, half-clothed people to cower away from me, their shackles clinking against each other with the quick movement.

My prep team.

Shock causes me to still. I absorb what I'm seeing as one entire picture. Venia, her gold tattoos in stark contrast to her pale skin. Flavius, his orange corkscrew curls in complete disarray. Octavia's evergreen skin seems to hang off over, as though she's deflating. Together, they sit huddled together, shrinking away from me as though I will hurt them, despite all knowledge to the contrary.

My eyes focus on the shackles that have bruised their wrists and rubbed the skin raw, and then slowly trail along the floor and find the large drain in the middle of the room. Imagination isn't needed for me to wonder to what purpose the drain serves.

The stench of the room finally hits me. Unwashed bodies, stale urine, and infection break through the reek of antiseptic. My noise crinkles and I have to swallow the urge to vomit. This entire situation is hitting far too close to home for me. Not only because of the harsh imprisonment my prep team has obviously faced, but because the situation reminds of Peeta.

Does his cell look like this?

Before I can contemplate this further, a whimper from Octavia, the sound that originally drew me into the room, causes my attention to focus on the present.

Equal amounts of anger and horror have overcome my shock by now, and I'm fuming. Only mere seconds have passed since I darted into the restricted room, even though it feels like longer. A sound of a scuffle behind me makes me think that the guard tried to enter the room and Gale has thwarted him, since I've yet to have someone try to drag me out of the room.

As if they would be successful.

I approach Venia as calmly as I can, not wanting to startle her. She's always been the strongest of the three. I take her icy hands in mine. "What happened, Venia?" I ask. "What are you doing here?"

"They took us," she answers, her voice trembling, though her hands clutch mine tightly. "From the Capitol."

"What on earth is going on?" Plutarch's voice echoes off the walls.

I need clarification from Venia. "Who took you?"

"People," she answers. "The night you broke out."

"We thought it might be comforting to have your regular team," Plutarch says from behind me. "Cinna requested it."

I drop Venia's hands and spin around to face Plutarch, anger shining brightly in my eyes and saturating my words. "I doubt that Cinna requested _this_," I hiss in outrage. "Unchain them!"

Plutarch looks genuinely surprised by the situation. "I was only told they were confined, Katniss," he says, and I believe him, but I really don't care about what he was told.

"Unchain them!" I repeat, my words carrying a note of an authority I didn't know I possessed.

By now, the guard has moved past Gale and is standing beside him. "They are being punished for stealing food," the guard says, as if it makes everything justifiable. "We had to restrain them after an altercation over some bread."

Bread. This was all about bread?

"No one would tell us anything," Venia says, her voice hoarse. "We were so hungry. It was just one slice she took."

Octavia sobs in response, and I'm thrown back to the day after my first Games, when Octavia slipped me a roll under the table because she couldn't stand to see my hunger. I gently ease myself down in front of Octavia, who flinches away from me as I take her hand in mine. "Octavia?" I say so gently and softly that it's practically a coo. "Octavia, it's going to be alright. I'm going to get you out of here."

"This seems extreme," Plutarch says, and I growl under my breath. I'm glad he's able to see the severity of the situation.

I stand protectively in front of my prep team, glaring daggers at the guard. If only looks could kill. "All of this over a piece of bread?" I question derisively.

"There were repeated infractions leading up to that. They were warned," the guard says, still seeing nothing wrong with the situation. "You can't take bread."

I've had enough of this. "Unchain them, now," I demand lowly.

"It's not authorized—"

"Unchain them now, damn it!" I yell, breaking his composure, and causing him to stammer.

"I have no release orders," he says quickly. "And you have no authority to—"

"Do it on my authority," Plutarch interrupts crisply. "We came to collect these three anyway. They're needed for Special Defense. I'll take full responsibility."

The guard nods stiffly and then proceeds to make a call. A minute later he returns and gives us permission to take my prep team. Their legs are wobbly from being forced into their cramped positions for so long, so I put Venia's arm around my shoulders and help her out of the cell. Plutarch helps Flavius and Gale does the same with Octavia, who keeps up a soft whimper the entire way to the hospital wing.

I spot my mother immediately, bandaging a scraped knee of a little boy. However, when she sees us come in, all her attention switches to us. Another nurse takes care of the little boy and my mother hastily directs us to three examination rooms. I help Venia onto the cot, and promise her that my mother will take care of her and that I'll be back to check on them later.

My mother is in the zone, I can tell. Her face is set in determination. Focused on the task at hand. And yet I see the surprise and the wariness in her eyes. I know that when she tenderly pokes and prods at my prep teams' bruised wrists, she knows what caused those injuries. The shock she's trying to bury stems from not the condition of her new patients—she's seen enough abused bodies in District 12—but from the fact that this sort of thing goes on in District 13 as well.

I move to wait in another room where Gale, Plutarch, and Fulvia have retreated to. Seeing my worried expression, Gale puts his arm around my shoulders and says, "She'll fix them up." I nod, my mind briefly flitting back to the day of his whipping.

Haymitch and Rye suddenly enter the room, and for a split second I see Peeta instead of Rye. They're just so similar. All the Mellark brothers looked alike, but Rye and Peeta could have been twins. The ever-present ache in my heart intensifies as Rye shoots me a small smile before wrapping his arm around my waist and giving me a half-hug.

"What happened?" Haymitch asks, looking at me briefly and then Plutarch.

"I was only told that they were confined," Plutarch says, somewhat defensively. "I knew nothing about this."

Haymitch shrugs. "I guess we've all been put on notice, then."

"What? No. What do you mean?" Fulvia asks, confused.

I quickly catch on to Haymitch's train of thought. "Punishing my prep team is a warning," I say. "Not only to me, but to you, too. About who's really in charge and what happens if she's not obeyed. If you had any delusions about having power, I'd let them go now. Apparently, a Capitol pedigree is no protection here. Maybe it's a liability."

Fulvia's expression hardens. "There is no comparison between Plutarch, who masterminded the rebel breakout, and those three beauticians."

"Perhaps we're a little more necessary to the war effort than you give us credit for," Plutarch says haughtily, obviously unconcerned.

"Of course you are," Rye suddenly speaks up. "The tributes were necessary to the Games, too. Until they weren't." He eyes Plutarch innocently. "And then they were very disposable—right, Plutarch?"

Rye sufficiently ends the conversation, and I'm filled with new respect for him. His words could have just as easily come from Peeta's mouth. Poignant and true. We sit in silence for the rest of the time, waiting for my mother to give her diagnosis.

It's around a half hour later when my mother appears. "They'll be alright," she says. "No permanent physical injuries."

"Good. Splendid," Plutarch says, obviously more worried about his own plans than the fact that my prep team has suffered. My words are confirmed when he continues. "How soon can they be put to work?"

"Probably tomorrow," my mother replies tersely, not liking Plutarch's obvious unsympathetic nature. "You'll have to expect some emotional instability, after what they've been through. They were particularly ill prepared, coming from their life in the Capitol."

Plutarch nods, and my mother quickly excuses herself to get back to her patients. Whether it's due to the fact that my prep team is indisposed or that I'm obviously not in the mood to put up with anything mockingjay-related, Plutarch gives me the rest of the day off. Gale, Rye, Haymitch, and I all go down for lunch, where we're served bean and onion stew, a thick slice of bread, and a cup of water. Well, that's what the boys get. I get an extra slice of bread and a bigger bowl of stew.

"That's so not fair," Rye grumbles into his bowl. "I wish I was pregnant."

I roll my eyes. "I'm sure."

District 13 has food down to a science. Everyone has a strict diet, serving sizes determined by a variety of factors. Due to the regimen, many from District 12 are looking healthier, especially the children. Since I'm pregnant, I get more food than everyone else. Pregnant women in general are treated almost like angels in District 13. You see, years ago District 13 suffered from a pox epidemic, which killed many and caused many more to be infertile. So the influx of refugees from District 12 were welcomed for not so altruistic reasons. They simply provide a new gene pool that 13 desperately needs. Just another reason not to trust them.

We don't speak very much, neither Gale nor Haymitch are big talkers. I've never been one to chatter either, and Rye can't seem to summon the seemingly constant flow of words that he used to back in 12. Haymitch mutters something about needing a drink as he tosses back his water like it were a shot. Rye asks me a few questions about the baby and if there's "fluttering in the womb." Gale always goes quiet when the baby is brought up, not that I really blame him. It really must be weird to be in love with your best friend who's pregnant with another man's child.

As lunch wraps up, Gale checks his forearm. "I've got training next," he says, prompting us all to see what District 13 has planned for us next.

"Me too," Rye says, not thrilled at all. Like all able-bodied young men, he'd been drafted into 13's army. And like Peeta, Rye doesn't have a taste for war or battle or being a soldier. Unlike Gale.

I check my arm. "I'll out there with you," I say, seeing that the next two hours are my allotted time to be outside. "What are you doing Haymitch?" I ask.

"Something with Command," he says irritated.

I resist a smile. Barely. "Are you going to go?"

"Nope."

Ten minutes later I'm outside, walking above ground. We're in a large fenced-in training area. Gale and Rye's squad is already doing laps, and Gale immediately takes off to catch up with them. Gale's eagerness in the war effort doesn't surprise me. I've been listening to him rant and rave and accuse the Capitol for years. His hate for them burns brightly, and I don't begrudge him for it. I hate them, too.

Rye, on the other hand, doesn't harbor the same ill feelings. Does he detest the Capitol? Of course. They've taken his little brother, the only family he has left. However, like his brother, I don't think Rye is capable of feeling hate, of wishing evil upon someone. He's too good.

"You better go join them," I say softly.

Rye whines childishly. "But I don't want to."

"Go ahead and stomp your foot while you're at it," I chide. "Add to the immaturity."

"Don't tempt me."

I roll my eyes.

"You'll be okay?" He glances toward his squad that's coming around for another lap. "I'm totally willing to skip."

"I'm sure your motives are completely selfless," I reply knowingly. "Go. I'll be fine."

"Right. See you later, sweetcheeks," he says before turning around and falling in line with his squad.

I watch them run for a moment before scanning the area. Most of it is for the soldiers. There's obstacle courses, a track, and a target range that take up the majority of the space. However, there's a small portion of the area that is for children. A playground of sorts. Swing sets and slides and a jungle gym. There's some picnic tables set up for the mothers to sit at while they watch their children play.

I surprise myself by heading in that direction, my hand unconsciously finding my stomach as I walk. My pregnancy has yet to condemn my ability to walk silently, so I'm able to arrive without anyone noticing. I avoid the picnic tables and the benches, choosing to sit on the grass under a modest tree. There are only a few children out today. A little girl with raven-black hair that I'd guess to be about four. Two boys that must be siblings if their matching brown hair and hazel eyes are anything to go by. They appear to be about six. The fourth child is a little toddler, a boy, with white-blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. My attention focuses on him more than the others. If his hair was a golden blonde, if his eyes were blue, it could be feasible that he could be my child. Peeta's son.

My heart threatens to break. It's been teetering on the edge since we broke out of the arena. Just one more crack and I know it will shatter completely. Only Peeta coming back to me can possibly hold me together. I'm trying to be strong. I really am, and my fury at Snow has not faded in the slightest. It's the only thing that's really keeping me going, aside from the baby. My hate for Snow. What he's done to me and my family. How he's already torn my blooming family apart. He's taken the father of my child from me, and the mere thought of what Peeta could possibly be suffering through causes bile to rise in my throat.

All of his suffering is because of me. He's going through all of that pain for _me_.

_I'll do anything to keep you safe._

My eyes close as the whispers take over my mind, making my heart ache and lift at the same time. If I concentrate hard enough, I know that I can recall the feeling of his arms around me so vividly that I can almost believe it's real. The warmth of his embrace. My face buried in his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat. His strong arms wrapping around me and keeping me close. A soft kiss.

I open my eyes.

Peeta isn't there.

"Peeta, you should be here," I can't help but whisper. "You're missing so much."

My hands find my stomach. The first day I discovered my baby bump I cried. Because I could just imagine the excited smile on Peeta's face, how his hands would gently touch my stomach, a look of wonder in his eyes. The first time I heard the baby's heartbeat. The first time I saw his little image on the screen. Peeta's missed so much.

"We need you." I don't know why I'm whispering, as though somehow he can hear me all the way in the Capitol. "I can't do this without you, Peeta."

As soon as the words leave my lips, I feel something in my stomach. A flutter. It's not a kind of fluttering that I've ever experienced. Not the nervous fluttering that I remember feeling so long ago when Peeta would smile at me with that soft smile he reserved especially for me. This is fluttering of a different kind. This fluttering is totally and completely real.

My baby is moving. I can _feel_ him.

Tears fill my eyes and a watery smile forms. "Hi, baby," I say softly as I gently rub my stomach. "We'll get your dad back, I promise. Daddy's being really brave."

_Daddy's going to keep you safe._

"We'll get him back," I repeat. "Don't worry."

The rest of my time outside I spend in silence, listening to more of Peeta's whispered assurances and feeling my baby move. When my time is up, I go back to my compartment for a brief moment of rest before Reflection, where Coin is supposed to announce Peeta's and the other victor's immunity. I'm jolted awake by a sharp knock on the door, and open it to find Haymitch standing on the other side.

"Let's go, sweetheart," he orders and without a word I fall into step beside him.

The entire population of 13, except those needed for essential jobs, is required to attend. Haymitch and I follow instructions down to a gargantuan room called the Collective that easily holds thousands of people. I stand silently by Haymitch as everyone files in. I see my mother and Prim, still in their nurse's garb, helping mobile patients who are still dressed in nightgowns and robes. I spot Finnick, who looks dazed, but gorgeous as always.

Haymitch sees Finnick, too, and starts to move through the crowd toward him. Whether it's because he knows I would have gone to Finnick anyway or he actually wants to check up on the bronze-haired stud I have no idea. When we reach him, he doesn't acknowledge our presence. He simply stares forward while his quick, practiced fingers tie knots in his strand of rope that's always with him.

"Finnick?" I call, trying to claim his attention. Nothing. "Finnick!" I say more authoritatively, nudging his shoulder.

"Katniss," he says, finally looking up. His hands abandon his rope for a moment to grasp my hand tightly, probably happy to see a familiar face. "Why are we meeting here?"

"I told Coin I'd be her Mockingjay," I tell him. "But I made her promise to give the other tributes immunity if the rebels won, and to announce it in public, so there are witnesses." I glance at Haymitch. "It was Haymitch's idea, really. I wanted to actually rescue them. They didn't go for that."

Finnick frowns, but nods. "I worry about Annie," he says. "That she'll say something that could be construed as traitorous without knowing it."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," I say, giving his hand a squeeze. Trying to find a light in the darkness, I announce, "I felt the baby move today."

Finnick's eyes light up a little. "Really?" he asks, placing his hands on my stomach. This would normally annoy me, but it's Finnick, and so I let it slide. "I don't feel anything."

"That'll come later," I promise him. "You'll have to wait."

"Finally fluttering, huh?" Haymitch asks gruffly, trying to hide his interest and happiness at the news. He'll never admit it, but I know he's secretly as excited about the baby as Prim and Rye. "That a good thing?"

"Very good thing," I assure him. "Don't worry there, Grandpa."

Haymitch scowls at the name, but I know that he's actually kind of fond of the idea. Besides, with both my father and Mr. Mellark dead, Haymitch is the closest thing my child will have to a grandfather. I open my mouth to tease Haymitch further, but Coin takes the stage, effectively causing my words to die in my throat.

Coin calls everyone's attention and then cuts right to the chase. Words are not wasted in District 13. After making a few opening remarks, she announces that I have agreed to be the Mockingjay. The announcement is met with polite clapping. And then she tells everyone of my condition. How I will only be the Mockingjay if the other victors—Peeta, Johanna, Enobaria, and Annie—will be granted a full pardon for any damage they do to the rebel cause. This announcement induces a rumbling in the crowd, a show of dissent. The people obviously didn't think I would put up any objection about becoming the Mockingjay, and so naming a price that spares possible enemies (in their view at least) angers them. I ignore the hostile glowers aimed at me.

The president only allows for their unrest to last for a few seconds before she calls back their attention. However, the words coming from her mouth are news to me. "But in return for this unprecedented request, Soldier Everdeen—"

"Mellark," I correct under my breath.

"—has promised to devote herself to our cause. It follows that any deviance from her mission, in either motive or deed, will be viewed as a break in this agreement. The immunity would be revoked and the fate of the four victors determined by the law of District 13. As would her own. Thank you."

Coin steps back and I swear that she meets my eyes from across the room. While her face is expressionless, I see the smirk in her eyes. I made my move and she just made hers, the little surprise twist in our agreement. My eyes meet Haymitch's, and I know we've both understood Coin's veiled threat.

One wrong move and we're all dead.

* * *

**You know, I think Coin gives Mrs. Mellark a run for her money for the title of Top Bitch. What about you?**

**And the summary for the chapter is: Mrs. Everdeen thinks Katniss should be on Teen Mom, therefore making Katniss sue for slander, Prim's ageless wisdom is discovered to be a trait inherited from the Elves (Legolas, I love you!), Rye doesn't want to play with the other kids, Gale is still pining after Katniss trying to rewrite the Guy Code, Haymitch is secretly having a midlife crisis because he thinks he's too young to be a Grandfather, Finnick is playing with his rope, and Coin is vying for the crown of Queen B.  
**

**And Peeta is still partying in the Capitol.  
**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Peeta!  
**

**"You don't do this to someone you love."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	4. Time of Dying

**A/N: This is a super-long chapter! The longest chapter I have ever written! Dudes, it's humongous.  
**

**This also happens to be one of my _favorite_ chapters. Why, may you ask? Because this chapter contains the creepiest, saddest, most depressing dream sequence ever. Personally, I think it's pretty awesome, but you guys will probably hate me and think that I'm being really mean.  
**

**Oh, well.  
**

**Once again, thank you VERY much for all of your reviews! You guys make my day! :D  
**

**************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

**************Peeta: You are so mean.  
**

**************Katniss: You made me cry.  
**

**************Haymitch: Seriously, you almost made me cry.  
**

**************Rye: And we all know that the Big H has no soul.  
**

**************Peeta: This is sooooo out of character for me, you know.  
**

**************Me: (hangs head in shame) I know.  
**

**************Peeta: And I would never say these things.  
**

**************Me: (nods solemnly) Yep. I know.  
**

**************Katniss: Then why did you write this scene?!  
**

**************Me: Do you want the logical reason or the selfish reason? Because logically, I needed to show just how miserable and guilty you were . . . and selfishly I just like making you miserable. Yeah, I know. Sadist.  
**

* * *

Chapter 4: Time of Dying

_On the ground, I lay motionless in pain_

_I can see my life flashing before my eyes  
_

_Did I fall asleep? Is this all a dream?_

_Wake me up, I'm living a nightmare  
_

* * *

_It's dark and cold in the cell. The entirety of the room is made of hard, unforgiving stone. The only light in the room comes from the glowing, yellow beam that seeps through the bottom of the door. The room is so empty and lifeless that the mere sound of my breaths seems too loud. It's entirely too still. Too dead._

_The sharp, metallic scent of blood is in the air. Bile rises in my throat and my stomach roils violently, but I manage to keep from vomiting. The air feels heavy, thick with dread and anguish. Ghostly cries seem to echo off the stone walls. My heart begins to race._

_Where am I?_

_A pained moan causes me to freeze. Slowly, I turn to the far corner of the room, my breaths becoming shallow and rapid as my pulse catapults. Screaming. I'm screaming at the sight before my eyes. A sight that I never wanted to see. A sight that will be permanently etched into my brain._

_Peeta lies in the corner. His large, broad frame has shrunken. He is no longer strong. His ribs protrude from his skin. His cheekbones are far too prominent. His body is riddled with blood and scars and burns. Blonde curls are plastered to his sweaty forehead. But his eyes, his eyes are what cause me to succumb to crippling sobs._

_Blue eyes, always so kind and bright, are glaring at me with hatred. Pure hate. No love. No kindness. Nothing but hate. Hate for me. "You did this," he wheezes, managing to sound venomous despite his perilous state. "This is your fault."_

_I collapse to my knees beside him, reaching a tentative hand to touch his face, but he flinches away from me. "Get away from me!" he cries angrily. "Get away from me, you bitch! This is your fault!"_

_"Peeta—" I choke on a sob. "Please, I love you . . ."_

_"Love." Peeta spits the word as though it's something vile. "You don't love me. You don't do this to someone you love. All of my suffering? All of my torture . . . it's all because of you. You and that spawn. What was I thinking? I thought I was doing this for you. But no, you let me leave so you could save yourself. You don't care about me. You just care about yourself and the spawn."_

_"Don't call him that!" I plead brokenly. "That's your child, Peeta! And I didn't want to leave you, but I couldn't let Snow take me and the baby . . ."_

_"But it's okay for me to be captured and tortured, right? Me. The dad. The protective father. Sacrificing himself. Yeah. Real selfless of me, right? Isn't that what I'm always doing? Sacrificing myself for you? Putting myself at risk so you can be safe? Oh, well. I'm going to die anyway. Not like you care."_

_I shake my head furiously. "No, no, no, Peeta, you can't die! You can't leave me!"_

_"Always about you." Peeta suddenly gets to his feet, his broken body advancing on me. "Always about Katniss. So selfish. Forget about me. It's all about you. You're safe in 13, and I'm stuck here!" He spreads his arms out wide, gesturing to the cell. "Nice place, right? I'm thinking of hanging a painting. Might bring a little life into the place."_

_"Peeta," I whisper brokenly. "I love—"_

_"Yeah, yeah," Peeta waves me off derisively. "Sure you do. You really showed me just how much that last night. You let me go. You chose to run away—"_

_"—you told me to run—"_

_"—and just let me hand myself over to them. You made a choice. It was me or the spawn—"_

_"Don't call him that!"_

_"—and you chose it over me." Peeta shrugs halfheartedly. "Yeah, I'm feeling the love Katniss."_

_"I'm sorry," I whisper, choking on the sobs that are overtaking my body. Tears pour in a torrent down my face. I can't control them. "Peeta, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."_

_"Katniss!"_

_Peeta continues to advance on me, malice and a need for revenge shining brightly in his eyes._

_"Katniss!"_

_A hand on my shoulder. I'm going to die. I deserve it. It's all my fault._

_"Katniss! Wake up!"_

I wake with a choked gasp, tears pouring down my face. My eyes are wide and wild as I glance around the room quickly, determining where I am. I'm in Compartment 313. I am in District 13. Peeta is in the Capitol. I am in District 13.

A sheen of sweat covers me from head to toe, the bed sheets and my t-shirt cling to me uncomfortably. My hair, which I wear out of my braid more often than not nowadays, is plastered to my neck. My breaths are continuing to come in gasps as my sobs won't allow me to take a deep breath.

"Easy there, sweetheart." I look to my left and am startled to see Haymitch, looking worse for wear and blatantly worried. Yet there's an understanding shine in his eye. He knows what haunts me. "Breathe, Katniss," he reminds me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Deep breaths, alright?"

I try to clamp down on my sobs, try to control the quick intake of air, but it only causes more tears to slide down my face. Haymitch's arms wrap around me, pulling me to him, and I bury my face in his chest, quickly soaking his shirt with my tears. He doesn't complain and shove me away, calling me a weakling for crying. Instead, he runs a soothing hand down my back and strokes my hair, letting me cry.

"It's my fault," I sob. "It's all my fault."

"No it's not." Haymitch's voice is softer than I've ever heard. Genuine and caring, for once not disguising just how much he's come to care for me. "Peeta made a choice, one that few men have the balls to make. The kid's so damn selfless . . ." Haymitch's words carry pain and admiration for the boy whom he secretly considers his son. "He knew what he was running into, and he did it for you and the baby. You had nothing to do with his choice. It was his alone."

"I miss him so much," I whimper, clinging for dear life to my mentor, who has in many ways become a father to me. "I want him back."

"We'll get him back," Haymitch assures me.

"But Coin won't—"

"Let me deal with Coin," he interrupts me. "You focus on being the Mockingjay. Let me deal with her."

Haymitch continues to hold me until my tears have dried completely, and for a long moment we simply sit in silence. It's nice to be held. If it were anyone else—Prim, my mother, Gale, even Rye, I would have already asked them to leave. I wouldn't have wanted them to see me like this. But there's no point in kicking Haymitch out. There's no point in hiding just how close to breaking I am. He already knows. Haymitch sees everything.

So I let him comfort me, try to feel relief from his words. It's not my fault. Peeta knew exactly what he was doing, what he was running headlong into. And he did it anyway. Because he loves me. Because he loves the baby.

_You're everything to me, you and the baby._

_Daddy's going to keep you safe._

"Everything's gone so wrong," I whisper. "Peeta's being tortured. Snow wants me dead. I've got Coin lurking in the shadows. Can anything go right?"

Just as the words leave my mouth, I feel that flutter in my stomach. The baby is moving, again. Despite it all, I manage a tired smile for about a second. Yes. The baby is the one thing that's gone right. Unexpected he may have been, but not unwelcome . . . even if I would rather have waited five to ten years.

"I think we both know something went right," Haymitch says, as if he knows what I'm thinking. "If that kid is anything like you or Peeta, they're going to be another pain in my ass."

I snort and brief chortle of laughter escapes me. Part of me knows that Haymitch is just trying to get me to laugh, while the other part knows that he's actually serious. He's right, though. Inevitably, my child will be headstrong. It's just in the genes.

"Get back to sleep," Haymitch orders, the gruffness that has been absent from his tone beginning to resurface. "Long day tomorrow."

Rather reluctantly, I let Haymitch go and he gets to his feet, his back creaking a little. If it had been any other time, I would have teased him about being old and decrepit. But not now. Not after he's been so uncharacteristically kind, showing a side of himself that has been buried for years.

Suddenly, I'm struck by a thought. "Haymitch?" I call softly, and his hand pauses on the doorknob.

"Yeah?"

"How'd you know?" I ask. "That I was having a nightmare?"

A pained light enters his eye. "Heard you screaming," he says. "Go back to sleep. If you can."

Then he leaves, and I'm alone once again.

I open the top drawer to my nightstand and retrieve the pearl from the silver parachute's depths. Turning on my side, I hold the pearl to my face, rolling it between my fingers. I can remember exactly how Peeta had been sitting beside me, the sun shining brightly, making his blonde head look golden and giving the illusion of an extra sparkle in his eyes. He'd held out the pearl to me, a soft smile on his face, "For you," he said gently. He didn't make a big scene about it, no dramatics like Finnick would have been inclined to do. Peeta was just being genuine and sincere, like always. The pearl was something he wanted me to have, and so he gave it to me in his own sweet way. I don't know if he meant for it to represent something more. All I know is that it's a token of his love, and it's all that I have left of him at the moment—aside from the t-shirts and, most importantly, the baby.

I clutch the pearl in my fist for the rest of the night. If I doze, it's never for very long or very deeply. When the alarm clock begins to blare, I shut it off and get ready mechanically. Haymitch was right. It's going to be a long day.

In ten minutes I'm walking down the hall and stepping into the elevator, intending to go to breakfast. But as my finger hovers over the correct button, I suddenly change my mind. I press the button for level sixteen and impatiently wait for the metal box to take me to my destination. The doors open and I walk purposefully into a cavernous room. A few of the dogs bark at me or prick their ears in attention as I walk by their cages. I don't pay attention to them. I'm only here for one thing.

I see her cage, larger than the others, tucked in a corner. Maya is already staring at me, looking slightly impatient as she paws at the door of her pen. I can't help but smile. Without a thought, I free her from her little prison and she immediately thanks me by licking my face with gusto. In fact, her affectionate onslaught is so overwhelming that a soft, sad laugh escapes me.

"I missed you, too," I tell her quietly as I run my fingers through her fur.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" a voice barks from behind me and I turn to see a beefy woman of about forty with short, black hair that seems to stick out in all directions.

"You must be Lieutenant Caine," I deduce aloud and she nods. "Katniss Mellark." I doubt there's really a need to introduce myself, but I do it anyway.

Caine nods again, and I get the vibe that she's not a big fan of words, even conversation in general. Maybe that's why she's fond of the dogs. "I came down to help train her," I explain my presence. "Gale said she was giving you trouble yesterday."

At the reminder, Caine's face flushes a little, her frustration from yesterday becoming apparent. "Yes," she says, her voice clipped. "I was told she was well-trained." Her voice is accusing.

"Oh, she is," I assure her. "She's just wary of strangers. If you could show me how you want her to go about detecting explosives, I can train her today."

Caine scoffs. "No animal is that good. Takes months of training for the dogs to be consistent."

I barely resist smirking. "Maya isn't a dog."

The next two hours are like a test, for both myself and Maya. Slowly, my nightmare recedes to the back of my mind as I immerse myself into training my furry companion. This is what I need, a distraction from the pain and grief and guilt, something that allows me to be productive. Caine watches us closely, explaining how she wants Maya to signal that she's detected an explosive—sitting and giving a sharp bark.

Caine places several black bags around the room, one of them filled with explosives, and then orders me to take Maya to each bag and have her sniff it to determine if the bag is loaded or not. I take Maya around the room to each bag, letting her sniff. The tenth bag, Maya declares to be the winner, sitting like I'd taught her and barking, even throwing in a howl for good measure. I know that Maya's correct because of Caine's face, obviously shocked that Maya succeeded on her first try. This time, I don't bother hiding my smirk.

The rest of the time is like a competition. Caine fills the winning bag (never using the same bag twice) with fewer and fewer explosives, hoping that Maya might skip over it. It doesn't happen. Every time Maya sniffs out the correct bag. At the end of the two hours, Caine merely leaves trace evidence of explosives in the bag and when she releases me and Maya into the area to hunt for the bag, I see her standing in the back of the room, looking smug. She doesn't think we'll be successful.

Twenty minutes later, Maya is barking, identifying an inconspicuous black bag. I look back at Caine, raising my eyebrows, silently asking if we're right. Judging by Caine's pursed lips, we are, and I smile in triumph, immediately congratulating Maya in a grand show of affection.

"She's good," Caine admits grudgingly at the end of the two hours. "Never seen an animal take to it that fast."

I shrug. "Maya's one of a kind."

"You two have a great connection," she says, sounding more genuine than I've ever heard. "That's how you're successful. If there's no bond between the handler and the animal, then you don't get results."

I give her a small smile. "Peeta always joked that we shared a telepathic link." At the sound of his name, Maya perks up and looks around, as if expecting Peeta to appear. The sight makes my heartache from the night return.

"He'll survive," Caine says suddenly. "The boy. He'll hold on for you."

My eyes meet Caine's. Her pale green eyes are filled with belief, and I really don't know why. I haven't met a person in 13, aside from my friends, who appear to be on Peeta's side. Caine must see my confusion because she actually smiles a little, which is such a contrast to her usual gruff expression that it seems extremely out of character.

"I'm on your side, Mockingjay," she says. "And you're on his side . . . so I am, too."

There's no more explanation, nothing else to be said by either of us. I simply nod and direct Maya back into her pen, promising her that I'll visit her tomorrow. Caine isn't even there when I turn around. She's at the cages of the other dogs, taking a large brown and black male by the leash and leading him to the training area. Even though we've hardly spoken, I feel like I've made an ally in Lieutenant Caine, and that brings me a hint of relief. If I can sway Caine to be on my side, perhaps others will follow.

I hastily hurry through breakfast before nearly sprinting to the Remake Room. When I run into Fulvia and Plutarch, they tut disapprovingly at my severe tardiness, but I merely explain that I had a nightmare and needed to be alone for a while. Naturally, they pity me in their own superior way that shows they understand nothing of my plight, but let my infraction slide. I realize that I can't make a habit of being late or causing trouble in general. Coin's threat from yesterday still rings in my mind.

_. . . It follows that any deviance from her mission, in either motive or deed, will be viewed as a break in this agreement. The immunity would be revoked and the fate of the four victors determined by the law of District 13. As would her own._

One screw up and we're dead.

I can't afford to fail. If I fail, Peeta will surely die.

When I enter the Remake Room I'm not ambushed by my prep team in the affectionate, chipper onslaught that I'm used to receiving. Disturbingly, they're silent, except for Octavia's occasional soft whimper. Of the three, Venia looks the most put together, though it doesn't surprise me. She's always been the strongest. Flavius has managed to bring some life back into his orange corkscrew curls, but I can't help but think he looks washed out without his purple lipstick. The three of them are dressed in the grey uniform of District 13, and I imagine that if they weren't so traumatized by their imprisonment, they'd be complaining relentlessly.

"We'll let you shower before we start," Venia tells me quietly and I nod in reply, sending her a small smile that I hope will bring her some comfort.

I don't take too long in the shower. The luxury of hot water is incredibly brief in 13, so even my quick shower time is challenged if I want to be clean by the time the water quickly goes from hot to warm to cold. I've just rinsed the last of the shampoo from my hair when the water abruptly becomes cool.

Octavia is waiting with a towel, hands trembling as she pats me dry. The Octavia in front of me is not the one I'm used to. Without the Capitol accents, her hair is actually a nice auburn. Her face isn't particularly pretty, but there's a sweet quality to her. She's younger than I would have thought, too. Early twenties, if I had to guess. Without her brightly colored three-inch nails, her fingers are actually quite stubby . . . and still shaking. "Katniss won't hurt us," Venia assures her. "Katniss did not even know we were here. Things will be better now."

Octavia nods but doesn't dare to look me in the eye.

It takes until lunch to get me to Beauty Base Zero. Essentially translated into natural, but still flawless. My hair is shiny but left straight and not styled. My nails are shaped but without polish. No makeup, but my skin still glows. Wax my body hair, though this time I get to avoid the bikini wax. Thank god for being pregnant.

My rounded stomach is somewhat of a spectacle for my prep team. It's almost as though they don't quite know how to react. I can tell that they want to ask questions, but none of them ever voice whatever they're thinking. However, I catch Flavius studying the bump oddly, almost as if it's unnatural, which strikes me as odd because carrying a child and then giving birth is about the most _natural_ thing I can do. Octavia appears almost mesmerized behind the ever-present hesitant hyper vigilance in her eyes. Venia is has the most curious reaction though . . . a hint of grief and loss is present in her eyes. I can't decide if I want to know whatever story she has or not.

Everything is going great, if you exclude the penetrating silence that actually makes me wish for the constant prattle that I'm used to being subjected to, until my prep team gets to my scar. My gift from Johanna when she cut out the tracker from my arm. Unlike the neat work of the Capitol, that would have focused on making the scar look as unnoticeable and clean as possible, 13 just made sure that I didn't bleed out. The scar itself is about the length of an apple and jagged. The problem with this is the fact that it will show when I wear my outfit Cinna designed. The sleeves cut off at my elbow, thus causing the scar to be visible. Apparently, this is cause for alarm.

I don't know why they're prettying me up to be the face of a war. "Pretty" and "war" don't exactly coexist in my mind. Though obviously the Mockingjay is an exception.

My scar causes such discord that Plutarch and Fulvia are called in. I have to resist rolling my eyes when the sight of my scar nearly triggers Fulvia's gag reflex. She's the Head Gamemaker's assistant and the sight of a little scar makes her that uncomfortable? Maybe it's the fact that the scar is real, visceral—not something she sees on a screen. News flash Fulvia, when you're fighting for your life, you'll probably get a scar or two.

Morbidly, I wonder how many scars Peeta has received.

"Everyone knows I have a scar here," I remind them, trying to hide my ire.

"Knowing it and seeing it are two different things." Fulvia's expression twists in disgust. "It's positively repulsive. Plutarch and I will think of something during lunch."

"It'll be fine," Plutarch waves indifferently. "Maybe an armband or something."

I turn away from them to get dressed, but also to hide my scowl. Capitol people continue to astound me with their ignorance and false reality. A reality where a simple scar is cause for a forty-five minute debate. Forget the fact that I'm pregnant. Forget that Peeta is being held captive and tortured. Apparently, my ugly scar is of more importance.

Only when Plutarch and Fulvia leave do I relax a little. I'm buttoning my shirt as I look up at Venia. "Are they bringing your food here?" I ask them, since they're huddled around the door looking lost.

"No." Venia shakes her head. "We're supposed to go to a dining hall."

Oh, great. Just more of a reason for people to stare at me. Seriously, can they not mind their own business? First, they think I'm having some sort of an affair with Rye, which is completely ridiculous. Then, they're glowering at me for insisting Peeta be granted immunity, no matter what condemning things he may say against 13. Then there's the fact that I'm actually pregnant. Most people thought it was just a ruse to promote sympathy.

And now I get to walk into the cafeteria with my prep team, complete with orange corkscrew curls, green skin, and gold tattoos.

This should be interesting.

"I'll show you where it is," I say, my voice betraying none of my exasperated thoughts. It helps that my prep team just looks pitiful and lost. They really are like children and my budding mothering instincts are demanding that I take care of them. "Come on."

As I expected, when I enter the cafeteria, both me and my prep team are subjected to blatant stares, gapping mouths, and surprised exclamations. "Just ignore them," I tell my prep team. "Keep your chin up."

It's something Cinna would always say to me before I went in front of the cameras, and by the light that enters my prep team's eyes I know that they recognize the source of my words. We grab our trays and make it through the line without incident. The menu for the day is a grayish fish and okra stew with cups of water. Naturally, I get a little more food than the rest. It really bothers me sometimes, the fact that I get more than everyone else. If I didn't absolutely need the extra nourishment for the baby, I know I would give my extra food away.

My prep team and I take seats at my usual table. Gale, Hazelle, and the kids are already eating, along with a few other people from District 12. Haymitch isn't present, but Rye waves me over and I take the empty seat next to him and then my prep team fill the rest of the empty seats beside me.

"Lookin' good, sweetcheeks," Rye says by way of greeting. "Almost didn't recognize you."

I punch his shoulder in response and Rye complains loudly and dramatically, prompting a few giggles from Posy. However, my prep team is staring at Rye, nearly unblinking, and he finally notices. "Um, how's it going?"

Octavia's bottom lip trembles. "You look so much like him," she says, her voice nearly a whisper.

Both Rye and I look down for a moment, trying to hide our pain and grief. Rye looks up again after a moment and says, "Yeah. It's a brother thing. Shared genes and all of that."

"Peeta's features are more chiseled," Flavius notes. "We would need to highlight your cheekbones more."

Rye doesn't take offense. He just smiles sadly. "Yeah, Peeta's the pretty boy. Nothing new, there."

The table falls into a tense silence for a few minutes, and I busy myself with poking at my fish with my fork as I try not to think about the horrors Peeta must be facing. Try to block the horrific images my mind creates to torment me. I know that Rye is trying to do the same.

His hand grasps mine under the table, and I clutch it in a death grip.

Hazelle is the one to break the silence. "It tastes better than it looks," she says, holding up a spoonful of the stew. Neither I nor my prep team have taken a bite, yet. "But I wouldn't let it get cold," she adds. "Doesn't improve the consistency."

We all get down to eating, and I notice Posy staring at Octavia curiously. I'm about to scold her for being impolite, but before I can she says, "You're green." She presses her little finger to Octavia's skin. "Are you sick?"

"It's a fashion thing, Posy," I explain. "Like wearing lipstick."

"It's meant to be pretty," Octavia says softly, looking on the verge of tears.

Posy takes a moment to contemplate the teary member of my prep team before announcing confidently, "I think you'd be pretty in any color."

I can't help but smile at the sweetness of Posy's statement. Octavia's lips turn up in the first smile I've seen since the days during the Victory Tour. "Thank you."

"If you really want to impress Posy, you'll have to dye yourself bright pink," Gale says, bringing a little more life into the conversation. "That's her favorite color."

Throughout lunch, Hazelle and Rye try to keep the conversation flowing, trying to ease the awkward tension in the air. Of course, the only thing that they seem to be able to come up with to talk about is the baby. I'm bombarded with questions. How am I doing? Am I still puking every morning? How are my ankles? Pants too tight, yet? Dizzy spells? Drinking enough water?

I'm immensely grateful to Hazelle, who's been through this four times. She's a wealth of information and advice. Rye is delighted to hear that I have felt the 'fluttering in the womb.' Hazelle merely smiles fondly, remembering the feeling, and then asks when I'm going to find out the gender of the baby.

This question brings me up short. Technically, I have another doctor's appointment at the end of next week, where I can find out if my child is a boy or a girl. I still don't know if I actually want to know the answer. It just . . . doesn't feel right. Peeta's won't be there to find out with me. I can't let him miss that moment, can I? No. We have to find out together.

"I don't think I'll ask," I finally say, and Posy frowns.

"But don't you want to know?" she asks curiously.

I smile at her sadly. "It wouldn't be fair," I explain to her softly. "I don't want to know if Peeta can't know, too."

"Oh." Posy looks down at her plate. She doesn't really know what's going on. Only that Peeta isn't here with us. "Okay."

Gale glares at his food. He has hardly said a word. Whenever the topic of the baby comes up he goes silent. This is beginning to annoy me. I don't know what his problem is. Yes, it's probably awkward to be in his position, but to be mad at me? That's not his place. I hate the odd distance between us, especially since we'd been growing back together before the Quell after finally getting everything out into the open. Now it's almost as though we're back at square one.

After lunch, I check my schedule and see that I'm due in Special Defense to meet Beetee. Gale's schedule coincides with mine, and together we walk in silence to the elevator. He presses the appropriate level and then stands beside me. The tension continues to grow until I snap, finally succumbing to my irritation that's been building for weeks.

"What's your problem, Gale?" I ask sharply, folding my arms over my chest defensively.

"No problem," Gale shrugs indifferent and I scowl.

"Liar."

Gale's eyes narrow, his expression a mask of stone. "What do you want me to say?"

"I just want to know what's going on!" I cry in frustration. "Things were so much better between us before the Quell. I thought that we—"

"We'll never be the same Katniss," Gale interrupts. "Things will never go back to the way they were."

"Of course not," I agree, confused. "Gale, I just want my best friend back. I need you." The words escape me in a pained whisper, showing my vulnerability, but Gale merely glares.

"Why don't you ask Mellark?" he questions spitefully. "Thought you two were pretty close."

All of my hurt morphs into anger at his implication. "There's nothing going on between me and Rye," I hiss. "I'm the last of his family, Gale. He doesn't have anyone else to turn to! The rest of his family got blown up and Peeta is . . ." I choke on my words, fighting back tears. "He's . . ." I shake my head, not finishing the sentence. "Of course we're going to help each other. Are you jealous or something?"

Gale scowls. "Don't think so much of yourself, Katniss."

I don't really believe him, not entirely, but I let it drop for now. "Then what is it?" I demand. "Is it the baby?"

Gale's eyes narrow dangerously and he looks away from me. His silence is all the answer I need.

"Gale," I sigh tiredly. "We didn't plan it."

"He should have been more careful," Gale finally mutters and my eyes widen.

"This isn't his fault!" I defend Peeta. "It takes two to make a baby, Gale."

In response, Gale's jaw clenches.

That's when I finally realize that Gale is still jealous. Maybe he'd even harbored a fleeting hope that I would eventually leave Peeta and choose him instead. That's why the baby bothers him. It must be a guy thing, but the knowledge that I had sex with Peeta really upsets him. Maybe to Gale it really cements the fact that I chose Peeta. Gale will never be my lover. That leaves him to be my best friend, but I've been spending so much time with Rye.

Gale feels threatened. He thinks he's losing the last connection he has to me.

"You're such a dumbass," I tell him bluntly, though I'd like to think I said it somewhat endearingly. I meant it to be. I take his hand. "Gale, you have always been and will always be my best friend. There's no replacing you."

Gale doesn't have time to respond because the elevator doors suddenly open. He drops my hand, but not before I swear I feel his grasp tighten ever-so slightly. I duck my head to hide my smile. Something good happened today. I managed to save my friendship with Gale. We've still got work to do, but we'll grow back together. True friends always do.

Special Defense is nearly as far down as the dungeons where we liberated my prep team. The room itself is monstrous in size, but compacted into little sections that are filled with computers, labs, research equipment, and testing ranges. It's Beetee realm through and through.

When we ask for the tech wiz we're led through the maze-like room until we come face to face with a large plate-glass window. The view that meets my gaze is astonishingly beautiful. Color _does_ exist in District 13. I'd almost lost all hope.

The sight before me is a lush meadow, full of the deepest green grass that looks soft and springy. Real trees grow and tower above the scene. Flowering plants are scattered about, giving even more life and color to the place. Hummingbirds flit from flower to flower.

I've now found my refuge. I wonder if Beetee will allow me to sneak in here and hide.

Speaking of Beetee, I spot him sitting frozen in his wheelchair as he watches a fluorescent green hummingbird sip nectar from a lovely orange blossom. Beetee looks up at us when the bird flies away to another flower, and waves for us to join him.

I don't need to be told twice. Gale must see my excitement, not that I'm really doing much to disguise it, because I catch him trying to suppress his smile. The air is surprisingly cool and breathable, which is a wonderful change. I know it's all in my head, but we're so far underground in 13 that I sometimes feel as though the air is suffocating me with its staleness.

"Aren't they magnificent?" Beetee asks excitedly. Though his skin still retains a sickly pallor, his eyes are bright with acuity and delight. "13 has been studying their aerodynamics here for years. Forward and backward flight, and speeds up to sixty miles per hour. If only I could build you wings like these, Katniss!"

"I doubt I could manage them, Beetee," I say with a small smile. "Especially now."

"Ah, yes!" Beetee looks under his ill-fitting glasses to sneak a glance at my growing stomach. "How are you? It's regrettable that I can't see you more often, but I'm needed here."

"I'm as good as I can be," I say truthfully. "Given the circumstances."

"No intelligence of Peeta?" Beetee asks, and I shrug, trying to squash the pain in my chest.

"Not that I know of."

"I've been keeping a special eye on communications," Beetee reassures me. "If I hear or see anything, I'll be sure to let you know."

It's wonderful to know that he's still my ally, even out of the arena. "Thanks, Beetee."

Another hummingbird flits in between us before darting off and Beetee shakes his head. "Incredible creatures," he murmurs. "Do you think you could shoot one with an arrow, Katniss?"

I raise my eyebrows dubiously. "I doubt it. Too small."

"You could snare them, maybe," Gale suggests, his face taking on a contemplative expression that is calm and calculating. "Take a net with a very fine mesh. Enclose an area and leave a mouth of a couple square feet. Bait the inside with nectar flowers. While they're feeding, snap the mouth shut. They'd fly away from the noise but only encounter the far side of the net."

"Would that work?" Beetee wonders.

"I don't know," Gale shrugs casually. Always so modest. "Just an idea. They might outsmart it."

"They might," Beetee concedes with a nod before adding, "But you're playing on their natural instincts to flee danger. Thinking like your prey . . . that's where you find their vulnerabilities."

I'm reminded of how Beetee won his Games. Setting up an elaborate electrical trap that fried a pack of kids chasing him. Their twisted, convulsing bodies will be forever imprinted into my mind. All Beetee had to do was connect two wires. Two little wires and he killed four tributes. But it was self-defense. It wasn't his fault. All of us . . . it was only self-defense . . .

"Beetee, Plutarch said you had something for me," I say, trying to rid my mind of images of past Hunger Games, both Beetee's and my own.

"Right, I do. Your new bow." he replies with a smile. "Follow me." Beetee presses a control on the arm of his wheelchair and begins to glide forward out of the meadow. As we follow him through the meandering halls of Special Defense, Beetee explains a little about his chair. "I can walk a little now. It's just that I tire so quickly. It's easier for me to get around this way. How's Finnick doing?"

I frown sadly, thinking of the distant, tormented look that seems to be perpetually on Finnick's handsome face. "He's having concentration problems," I understate.

Beetee sees through it, though my answer was obviously transparent. "Concentration problems, eh?" Beetee sighs. "If you knew what Finnick's been though the last few years, you'd know how remarkable it is that he's still with us at all. Tell him I've been working on a new trident for him, though, will you? Something to distract him a little."

I nod. Distraction is good. Maybe working with his new trident will give Finnick some incentive to get better. "I'll tell him."

Beetee leads us to a hallway that's guarded by four guards. Their hard expressions remind me of the Peacekeepers in District 11 on the Victory Tour. Harsh and shoving. I can imagine Peeta standing right beside me like he had been that day, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, glaring at the Peacekeepers.

_Back off._

Somehow I get the feeling he'd say the same thing now. Especially when I have to go through DNA scans, retinal scans, and fingerprint scans. Not to mention I get frisked. That, Peeta would have definitely had a problem with. As it is, the guards are lucky that I didn't punch them in the face.

Eventually, we're allowed through. Honestly, I have no idea why they deem such security measures necessary. I can't imagine anyone from 13 breaching security . . . or breaking any rule for that matter. These are people who glare at you if you use a full sheet of paper to write a single sentence.

Maybe Coin is secretly paranoid . . . or maybe the extra measures are due to the influx of immigrants. Probably the latter.

At the end of the hallway, we go through another round of identification checks. Like my DNA changed during the five seconds it took to walk twenty yards to the end of the hall. This is just ridiculous. However, I admit that my ire fades somewhat once we're finally allowed into the armory and I see the glory of the weapons surrounding me. Rows of various firearms, ranging from handguns to machine guns. Rocket launchers. Explosives. Armored vehicles.

However, it's a wall of archery weapons that catches my eye. The grandeur of some of the bows look far too weighted down with gadgetry and scopes for me to even think about holding steady long enough to take a shot. I know that my eyes are wide with delight as I take in my favorite weapon in so many different styles and forms. I can just imagine Peeta's eye roll and then the indulgent smile that would appear on his face as he watched me check out the weapons.

How I wish he was here with me to do just that.

"Gale, maybe you'd like to try out a few of these," Beetee says.

Gale raises his eyebrows, a glint of excitement in his eye. "Seriously?"

"You'll be issued a gun eventually for battle, of course. But if you appear as part of Katniss's team in the propos, one of these would look a little showier. I thought you might like to find one that suits you."

"Yeah, I would," Gale says with a smile before quickly glancing over the weapons in sight. He picks up a very lethal-looking bow that has so many different scopes on it, I'd never know which to use when. Gale hoists it up and points it, pretending to take aim.

"That doesn't seem very fair to the deer," I say, still eyeing all the scopes and gadgets on the bow.

"Wouldn't be using it on deer, would I?" he retorts.

Beetee says something about going and getting my bow, leaving Gale and I alone. I wait until Beetee is completely out of sight. "So it'd be easy for you?" I ask. "Using that on people?"

"I didn't say that," Gale defends as he drops the bow to his side. "But if I'd had a weapon that could've stopped what I saw happening in 12 . . . if I'd had a weapon that could have kept you out of the arena . . . I'd have used it."

"Me, too," I agree, though I have to admit that the time I spent with Peeta in the arena wasn't all that bad . . . most of the time. The cave was actually kind of nice. I really miss that sleeping bag . . .

But that doesn't matter, right now. I don't know how to explain to Gale how killing a person, taking a life, effects you. How their ghost will always haunt you. Peeta understands. Haymitch understands.

Gale doesn't understand, and I honestly hope he'll never have to.

Beetee returns with a long black case in his lap. He's wearing an excited smile as he comes to stop next to me and says, "For you."

I can't help the puzzled smile that stretches my lips. What's so special about this bow? What has Beetee's genius brain come up with? I take the case from him and set it on the floor, flipping open the clasps on the sides and then lifting the lid. "Oh," I breathe in surprise as my fingers unthinkingly stroke the bow. Nestled in the maroon velvet-lined case is my bow. It's completely black and sleek-looking and yet radiates power and danger. It's a force to be reckoned with, and a beautiful one at that.

I lift it carefully from it's confines and I have to admire Beetee's craftsmanship, as well as his aesthetic taste. The balance is perfect. The curves of the bow are elegant and precise, alluding to wings extended in flight. But there's something else. Something odd. The bow is vibrating in my hands. It feels alive. I press it to my cheek just to make sure I'm not imagining things and a hum goes through my body.

"What's it doing?" I ask Beetee.

"Saying hello," he replies with a grin. "It heard your voice."

"It recognizes my voice?"

"_Only_ your voice." Beetee looks very proud of himself and I can't help but find it cute. "You see, they wanted me to design a bow based purely on looks. As part of your costume, you know? But I kept thinking, _What a waste_. I mean, what if you do need it sometime? As more than a fashion accessory?" Beetee pauses, glancing at my obvious pregnant belly. "Of course, it's just a precaution."

"Thanks for the thought, Beetee," I smile in gratitude, and Beetee takes my response as permission to continue.

"Anyway, so I left the outside simple, and left the inside to my imagination. Best explained in practice, though. Want to try those out?"

Gale and I spend the rest of the hour at the shooting range, shooting arrow after arrow into the targets. Not only are the bows remarkable, but the arrows are as well. With Beetee's weapons, I can accurately shoot at a hundred yards. I have three types of arrows to choose from in my arsenal—razor sharp, incendiary, and explosive. He even color-coded them for me so I know which is which by sight. I can override the bow with a command, though I have no idea why I would do so. To deactivate the bow, all I have to do is say, "Goodnight." Then it will wait until the sound of my voice wakes it once again.

We say goodbye to Beetee and then check the schedules on our arms. We're both due in Command, and I barely control my urge to bang my head against the wall of the elevator as it takes us up to the correct level. I have no idea what this meeting can be about, and when I walk through the doors and see that the room is filled with even more people than normal, I become even more suspicious. I even spot Greasy Sae in the corner of the room, who shoots me a wink when she sees me.

By the way Haymitch is greeting everyone, it's clear that some people are here by his personal request. My eyes narrow, my suspicion being replaced by sheer curiosity. What does my mentor have up his sleeve?

I spot Plutarch and Fulvia sitting at the long table in the middle of the room, Fulvia looking more than a little disgruntled, like a toddler who had her favorite toy taken away or was denied a treat. Coin, of course, sits as impassively as always at the head of the table, and when our eyes meet we have a brief stare down. I know that if I look away first, it would be a sign of weakness, but I can't be seen glaring at her like I hate her guts. Which I do, for two reasons. One, she refuses to rescue Peeta, and two; she's probably planning to kill me eventually.

Haymitch clears his throat, automatically drawing my gaze. "Alright," he says. "For those of you who don't know already, we're here because Katniss can't act to save her life."

Wow. Thanks, Haymitch.

I know that he feels my glare drilling holes in the side of his head, but he ignores me. "I've looked over your propo ideas," he says, looking at Fulvia in particular. "And it's not going to work. It's too fake and too forced. You can't bloody her up and make her look sexy or whatever the hell you're goal is. That's not who the people fell in love with."

"Then what do you suggest?" Coin asks crisply.

"I'm getting there," Haymitch retorts back and Coin's eyes narrow ever-so slightly. I watch the exchange curiously. I remember Haymitch's words to me this morning . . . _Let me deal with Coin. _Coin versus Haymitch . . . a dangerous battle of cunning, cleverness, and manipulation that can only end so many ways, none of which make me feel at ease.

"So, my point is that Katniss can't be someone she's not," he continues. "That being said, I want everyone to think of one incident where Katniss genuinely moved you. Not where you were jealous of her hairstyle, or her dress went up in flames or she made a halfway decent shot with an arrow. Not where Peeta was making you like her. I want to hear one moment where _she_ made you feel something real."

Silence stretches on for a long moment, and I'm afraid it will never end when Leevy speaks up. "When she volunteered to take Prim's place at the reaping, because I'm sure she thought she was going to die."

"Excellent example," Haymitch praises before writing with a purple marker on a notepad, "Volunteered for sister at reaping." He looks around. "Somebody else."

A person who I typically think of as a muscular robot that does Coin's bidding, Boggs, speaks up next, surprising me. "When she sang the song while the little girl died." A brief flash of Boggs in the dining hall with a small boy perched on his hip filters into my mind and I think that Boggs might not be a robot after all.

"Who didn't get choked up at that, right?" Haymitch asks, writing it down.

"I cried when she drugged Peeta so she could go get him medicine and when she kissed him good-bye!" Octavia blurts, before clamping her hand over her mouth as though she's sure she's about to be punished. I frown at her reaction, but I can't help but be thrown into the very memory she's referencing.

_You drugged me._

_You were being difficult._

The memory of Peeta's angry face actually makes my lips twitch as I fight not to smile, especially when I remember my surprisingly coherent rant that soon followed.

"Oh, yeah," Haymitch says absently, his sarcasm bleeding into his words. "Drugs Peeta to save his life. Very nice."

Many different examples of me being, well, _me, _begin to be voiced. When I took Rue on as an ally. When I admitted my love for Peeta. When I took Chaff's hand on interview night. Tried to carry Mags. Comforted Peeta when we were under attack by the jabberjays, though I really think that was a team effort on our part. I would have completely broken if Peeta hadn't been with me. But the point that keeps coming back is the berries. The damn berries that started everything, and how they meant different things to different people. The Capitol's injustice and cruelty. Refusal to give in under unbeatable odds. Love for Peeta.

Finally, Haymitch looks up and holds up the notepad that's covered in purple ink from the many voiced examples. "So, the question is, what do all of these have in common?"

"They were Katniss's," Gale says quietly and Rye nods in agreement.

"No one told her what to say," he finishes.

"Unscripted, yes!" Beetee is all smiles. "So we should just leave you alone, right?"

Despite it all, I smile a little at that.

"Well, that's all very nice but not very helpful." Fulvia is obviously insulted that Haymitch just trashed her entire idea. "Unfortunately, her opportunities for being wonderful are rather limited here in 13," she says snidely. "I think we can make the propos work. A little less smoke. A little less . . . grime. Keep her natural. After all, we already have the tagline!"

"Yeah, about that." Haymitch hands me a piece of paper. "Read that."

I scan the words on the page. "People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice."

I raise my eyebrows. It's kind of a mouthful, but I get the feeling the people of 13 are quite proud of it.

So they're probably not happy when Haymitch smiles (which is always a little creepy), and then says, "And that, my friends, his how a revolution dies."

I scowl. Haymitch's confidence in me is overwhelming.

"So what do you suggest?" Plutarch asks. "If we have to evoke real, genuine emotion within Katniss to get quality footage, how do you suggest we go about doing it?"

Haymitch opens his mouth to answer, but Coin interrupts him, her words causing both me and Haymitch freeze.

"We send her into combat."

* * *

**And we're finally through! Woo! That took awhile.**

**So, alas, the summary for this chapter is: Katniss has a freaky dream but is against being committed to the asylum, Haymitch's evil twin actually shows compassion and comforts Katniss, Gale is still holding out hope that Katniss will join him on Jerry Springer when Peeta gets back, Maya has put all other dogs on suicide watch, Rye is obsessed with "fluttering", Plutarch and Fulvia are vying for Ultimate Douche Bag, and Coin is auditioning for a role in Horrible Bosses 2.  
**

**Quote from next chapter comes from . . . Rye!  
**

**"Now, would you rather deal with an alive me for an unknown amount of time or be subjected to my ghostly cries of vengeance until _you_ die?**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	5. Welcome To The Jungle

**A/N: Wow. Just . . . wow. Seriously, almost 300 reviews already? That's awesome. Ridiculously awesome. You are AWESOME.  
**

**Thank you, thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I may not always get the chance to reply, but do know that I cherish each and every word. :)  
**

**Alas, this chapter is a lot of setup for the next chapter where the real fun begins. So, that being said, I hope this isn't too boring.  
**

******************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************Me: . . . *que crickets chirping* . . .  
**

******************Rye: Uh . . . isn't this the part where you say something about the chapter?  
**

******************Me: Kinda. I just . . . don't know what to say.  
**

******************Haymitch: Everyone. Write this down. AC doesn't have words.  
**

******************Peeta: Wow.  
**

******************Katniss: I'm so disappointed.  
**

******************Me: Hey! It's not my fault, okay? Sometimes I draw a blank.  
**

******************Peeta: Does that mean I'm getting rescued sooner?  
**

******************Me: Uh . . . no. Sorry, love.  
**

******************Finnick: Well that's just not nice.  
**

* * *

Chapter 5: Welcome To The Jungle

_Welcome to the jungle where we take it day by day_

_If you want it, you're gonna bleed, but it's the price you pay  
_

* * *

What?

Everyone in the room is silent for a heavy second before they erupt in a flurry of counterarguments. Sending me into combat is dangerous. One, because I'll be the first target should the Capitol learn of wherever I am on the battlefield, and let's not forget the fact that I'm pregnant. The last thing I'll ever do is jeopardize my child's life.

Haymitch is arguing against Coin's suggestion, Rye and Gale flanking him as they dispute her decision. Plutarch seems to be acting as a sort of mediator and Boggs is simply deep in thought, darting glances between me and Coin.

"You've made it obvious that Katniss only performs well in real-life circumstances," Coin says simply.

"Every time we coach her or giver her lines, the best we can hope for is okay," Plutarch adds, not really taking sides, but just stating a fact.

"I'm not arguing that," Haymitch snaps. "It has to come from her. That's what people are responding to. But that doesn't mean we toss her out there and wait for her to get blown up or shot. Prompt her with something she feels strongly about and then just let her go."

"It's unreliable," Coin interrupts coldly. "She's not the boy."

Peeta. I bet Coin wishes she could have rescued Peeta rather than me, for the very reason that Snow is using him now. His gift of words. His way of speaking, making anything sound reasonable. Scripted or unscripted, it wouldn't matter. Peeta is that good.

"Even if we're careful, we can't guarantee her safety," Boggs finally adds his opinion. "She'll be a target for every Capitol soldier, and I'm not comfortable leading a pregnant girl into a warzone."

I don't really know what to do. What can I do, really? Obviously I can't go into a warzone. They'd have to drag me kicking and screaming because I won't get myself and my child killed because of 13's wartime zeal. But what about Coin's threat? If I don't perform as the Mockingjay, Peeta loses his immunity . . .

"Where would you send me?" I ask, causing everyone to look up at me. Haymitch, Gale, and Rye are shooting me glares of warning, but I ignore them. I stare straight at Coin, waiting for an answer.

"Obviously, it would be the least dangerous situation that can evoke some spontaneity in you," she says as she slowly rises from her seat and begins to circle the table. She studies the illuminated district maps before continuing. "You would go to District 8. There was heavy bombing this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course. You'd be armed with a squad of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Haymitch will be airborne and in contact with you."

"There's no way to be certain the air raid has passed," Haymitch immediately argues. "The situation is completely unpredictable. No matter how many measures we put into place to keep her safe, it's not a guarantee."

Coin's pale grey eyes meet mine. "Well, Katniss will just have to decide if it's worth the risk."

There's something in her tone, something that makes me think she's threatening revoking Peeta's immunity if I refuse. Or maybe it's just my own fears, I don't really know. _Worth the risk_. Love is worth the risk. Always. But can I really risk the baby? No. I can't.

I close my eyes for a brief moment. What do I do? If I refuse, Coin will revoke Peeta's immunity. If I agree, I will put myself in danger. But I'll have guards. And Haymitch. Things will be fine. I'll be fine. It won't be a risk. I'll be fine. Nothing will happen. I'll be fine.

I can't lose Peeta . . .

I open my eyes.

"I want Gale and Rye as part of my guards," I finally say with as much authority in my tone as I can muster. "And should anything go wrong, I want the hovercraft ready to go the second trouble hits."

"Of course," Coin agrees. "Is that all, Mockingjay?"

I nod stiffly and Coin dismisses everyone. We're to leave for 8 within the hour. There's no time to tell Prim or my mother where I'll be going. Haymitch, Gale, and Rye stay behind as everyone files out of the room, all three of them glaring at me. I meet their glares evenly with one of my own.

"She was going to take away Peeta's immunity," I defend my decision, focusing my gaze on Haymtich, whose jaw is clenched so tight I'm afraid it will snap. "You know she was threatening to do it when she asked me. I can't risk losing Peeta."

"What about the baby?" Rye questions, looking protective, worried, and angry all at the same time. "I'm not about to let my baby brother's girl go out and herself killed. I promised him I'd look out for you."

"What are you—"

"Before you two left for the Quell," Rye cuts me off, answering my question before I can even ask. "He made me promise that if anything happened to him, I'd look after you."

"I don't need to be looked after."

All three of them either scoff, roll their eyes, or scowl, obviously disagreeing with me.

"Catnip," Gale sighs. "This isn't a good idea. You're going to be a target."

"I've always been a target," I tell all of them. "That's why I've got you guys, right?"

We're all silent until Haymitch scowls. "You listen to every word I say, got it?" he growls. "If I tell you to run, you better damn well run faster than you ever have." He spins to face Rye and Gale. "And you two stick to her like glue, understand?"

"Like glue," Rye repeats, promising. "Of the stickiest kind."

"Good, now get going."

All of us file out of Command and head to the elevator. I'm on my way to the Remake Room and then to Special Defense so Beetee can help me with my armor. Rye and Gale are heading to get suited up as well, and my guess is that Haymitch is headed to the Airborne Division to get situated in the hovercraft.

We're all silent until the elevator makes the first stop, Haymitch's exit, and the moment the doors close behind my mentor, Rye smiles a little. "He put on the daddypants this morning," he jokes. Gale glares at Rye's attempt to lighten the mood and Rye raises his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Just trying to diffuse the tension."

"Well don't," Gale snaps.

"Careful, I'll prank you."

"I'll kill you."

"I'll haunt you," Rye retorts. "Now, would you rather deal with an alive me for an unknown amount of time or be subjected to my ghostly cries of vengeance until _you_ die?"

Gale's silent.

"Yeah, I thought so."

I've had enough. This is ridiculous. "Rye?"

"Yeah, sweetcheeks?"

"Shut up."

"Shutting up." Rye mimes zipping his lips.

I'm the next stop and before I step out of the elevator I turn back to level a look at Rye and Gale. "Find some way to coexist without pranking or killing the other," I order and Gale's lips purse while Rye beams at me innocently.

Oh, boy.

Though I doubt Rye would pull a prank that would provoke Gale to exact vengeful retribution, I do hope that they find a way to get along, if only for my sake. Shaking my head, I make my way to the Remake Room. My prep team is already waiting and they have me dressed in my costume within twenty minutes. An armband is given to me to cover the scar on my forearm, and I scowl as I situate it properly. Flavius's hands are in my hair, making it look tousled, but still natural. Venia applies just the barest hint of makeup to my face. Simple foundation, a little blush, some mascara and a natural pink lipstick complete my not-so-polished, yet natural-put-together-look.

I couldn't care less at this point.

The moment I'm done, I'm hustled to Special Defense to meet with Beetee. Since I'll technically be in a battlezone, Beetee is helping me with the armor Cinna designed. There's a helmet of a supple material that's interwoven with a precious metal that fits close to my head. It can be drawn back like a hood if I don't want it up full-time. I'm happy with a vest that reinforces the protection over my vital organs. A small, white earpiece attaches to my collar by a thin wire—my means of communicating with Haymitch. Beetee secures a gas mask to my belt, explaining as he works, "If you see anyone dropping for reasons you can't explain, put it on immediately," he says.

Lastly, he attaches a sheath divided into three sections onto my back. Each section houses a different type of arrow. "Just remember: Right side, fire. Left side, explosive. Center, regular," he reminds me and I nod. "You shouldn't need them, but better safe than sorry."

Yes. Definitely better safe than sorry. A bubble of doubt, no, a huge _cloud_ of doubt floats hauntingly in the back of my mind. This could all go so horribly wrong in a second. And if I get hurt or die, I condemn the baby as well. Then, should Peeta miraculously survive his imprisonment—if the rebels win the war—he would have lost the reason he fought to survive due to my own recklessness. I can't do that to him.

But at the same time, I can't knowingly do something that could end all possibilities of ever having him in my arms again, especially when there's still hope.

Boggs arrives right on time, and as we're waiting for the elevator to arrive to take us to the Airborne Division, Finnick suddenly appears, wild-eyed and agitated. "Katniss, they won't let me go! I told them I'm fine, but they won't even let me ride in the hovercraft!"

I bite my lip as I take in Finnick's disheveled appearance. His bare legs peeking out of his hospital gown, his wild eyes shining too brightly, his rope knotted around his fingers, and his hair that's in disarray. Any plea I give to his case will not be heard. But I can't bring myself to disappoint him completely, so I try a new tactic.

"Oh, I completely forgot," I say, slapping a hand on my forehead. "I was supposed to tell you to head to Special Weaponry. Beetee has a new trident for you."

At the word _trident _he perks up, looking like the old Finnick. "Really?" he asks with excitement. "What does it do?"

I shrug. "Don't know, but if it's anything like my bow and arrows, you're going to love it." I pause for a minute as I add pointedly, "You'll have to train with it, though."

Finnick nods. "Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there."

He turns to go, but I stop him. "Finnick?" I try to fight a smile. "Maybe some pants?"

It's as if he's just now realized the outfit he's been sporting for weeks. Suddenly, he rips off his gown, leaving him in just his underwear, and strikes a ridiculously provocative pose. "Why?" he asks with a leer. "Do you find this . . . distracting?"

The laugh that escapes me is entirely genuine, a rarity these days. Partly, I'm laughing because honestly the situation is quite funny. Especially the uncomfortable look currently on Boggs's face. But I'm also laughing in relief, because at least I know that the old Finnick isn't completely gone. This is the Finnick I met in the Quarter Quell.

"Maybe if you were Peeta," I say with a sad smile. Though honestly, if Peeta were currently in Finnick's pose, I don't think I'd be able to keep from bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

My comment sobers Finnick up a little, and he shrugs sheepishly. "I'll see you when you get back."

"You bet," I smile as the elevator doors open.

When the doors close and the elevator begins to ascend, I shoot an apologetic look at Boggs. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be," he shakes his head before adding graciously, "I thought you . . . handled that well."

I smile slightly. "Finnick's one of a kind."

Boggs seems to size me up, and I wonder what he sees. Do I appear weak to him? A vulnerable girl that is in way over her head? Missing her lover and carrying a child? I doubt I look very much like the Mockingjay that 13 envisioned, but damn it I'm going to give it my best. Peeta deserves nothing less.

I take the time to take in the man beside me, who is apparently going to be the head of my guard. He's probably mid-forties. A buzz cut just hints at his graying hair. Incredible posture. A soldier through and through. But there are laugh lines on his face, causing me to remember the little boy I've seen perched on his hip. An honorable family man. I want to trust him, but he seems so in step with Coin . . .

"You're a brave woman," he says after a moment. "Reckless and impulsive . . . but brave."

"You don't like that I'm going out there," I conclude and Boggs hesitates.

"I don't doubt your ability to take care of yourself," he says diplomatically. "I've seen your Games. But this is not a situation which you should be throwing yourself into."

"I can't lose him." I don't know if I'm talking about the baby or Peeta. Maybe both. "I can't. If there's something that I can do . . . I have to do it."

"And if it costs you your life?" Boggs asks. Well, he doesn't pull punches, does he?

But he makes a fair point. I swallow, my nerves and doubt overcoming me for a moment. "Then I can only hope he'll forgive me."

We're silent for the rest of the ride. There's a short pause and then a series of clicks. Next thing I know we're moving laterally. Even though I know to expect it, it's still odd for me to think of elevators being able to move side to side. The complex of District 13 is so incredibly intricate; that it's really all 13 can do to keep it running.

When we step out into the Hangar, I can't help but look at all the aircraft that surround me. I feel a familiar bubble of anger that 13 had all of this and yet waited so long before helping the rest of us. But, as Haymitch has explained to me more than once, 13 wasn't in a position until recently to launch a counterattack. Yes, they had nuclear missiles, but if they started a nuclear war, the question remained if any human life would even be left. Fair point, but it didn't ease my feelings much.

"Over here," Boggs says, gesturing to a smaller hovercraft.

The insides of the craft are swamped with cameras and other television equipment, plus the operators of said equipment. Everyone is in their District 13 military jumpsuits, even Haymitch, and when he sees my smirk he scowls at me, the expression having more of a harsh quality about it than normal. Yeah, he's definitely pissed at me.

Fulvia sees us and comes right up to me, studying my face that is lacking the dramatic makeup she'd desired, and frowns. "All that work, down the drain," she laments with a sigh. "I'm not blaming you, Katniss." No, of course you aren't. "It's just that very few people are born with camera-ready faces. Like him." She grabs Gale by the arm and spins him around, abruptly ending his conversation with Plutarch. "Isn't he handsome?"

The question, given mine and Gale's history, is incredibly awkward, but luckily Rye shows up to save the day. "Oh, I don't know 'bout him," he says with a bright grin. "But I think we can all agree I'm pretty smokin'."

"Well, don't expect us to be impressed," Boggs says dryly. "We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear."

I decide to go ahead and trust Boggs.

An announcement for takeoff is given and I take my seat between Rye and Gale. Haymitch and Plutarch sit opposite me, and I strap myself into my seat. Slowly, the hovercraft rises into the air and then winds through a short tunnel before reaching a platform that rises up into the middle of a field. Then we're gliding through the clouds.

It's only now that I realize I don't really know what to expect in District 8, a byproduct of my impulsiveness. Plutarch explains the state of things in the simplest terms, for which I'm grateful. I don't want to know the extraneous details.

All the districts, except for District 2, are currently at war with the Capitol. It doesn't surprise me that 2 has stayed loyal to the Capitol. They've always been favored, receiving more food and better living conditions. 13 was once the stronghold for the Capitol, but after the Dark Days and the supposed destruction of 13, District 2 took up the mantle as the Capitol's center of defense, even if they were publicly presented as the home of the nation's stone quarries.

What surprises me most, however, is the fact that not only does 2 supply the Capitol with weaponry, but also with Peacekeepers. "You mean some of the Peacekeepers are born in 2?" I ask dumbfounded. "I thought they all came from the Capitol."

"That's what they want you to believe, yes," Plutarch agrees with a nod. "But its population could never sustain a force that size. Then there's the problem of recruiting Capitol-raised citizens for a dull life of deprivation in the districts. A twenty-year commitment to the Peacekeepers, no marriage, no children allowed. Some buy into it for the honor of the thing, others take it on as an alternative to punishment. For instance, join the Peacekeepers and your debts are forgiven. Many people are swamped in debt in the Capitol, but not all of them are fit for military duty. So District 2 is where we turn for additional troops. It's a way for their people to escape poverty and a life in the quarries. They're raised with a warrior mind-set. You've seen how eager their children are to volunteer to be tributes."

Yes, I've seen how eager they are. Cato and Clove. Brutus and Enobaria. "But all the other districts are on our side?" I check to make sure.

"Yes. Our goal is to take over the districts one by one, ending with District 2, thus cutting off the Capitol's supply chain. Then, once it's weakened, we invade the Capitol itself," Plutarch reveals. "That will be a whole other type of challenge. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Haymitch has said something of what the government would be like should we win, but I want a little more detail. "If we win, who would be in charge of the government?"

"Everyone," Plutarch answers with a smile. "We're going to form a republic where the people of each district and the Capitol can elect their own representatives to be their voice in a centralized government. Don't look so suspicious; it's worked before."

"In books," Haymitch mutters, obviously not too trusting of the idea.

"In history books," Plutarch corrects. "And if our ancestors could do it, then we can, too."

Honestly, I don't see our ancestors as much to brag about. After all, they're the reason we're in this position in the first place. Leaving us with a broken planet and a war-torn country. Yeah, thanks ancestors. We really appreciate it.

But I still can't deny that the idea of a republic sounds like a great improvement over our current government.

However, there's still one question that I can't go without asking. "And if we lose?"

"If we lose?" Plutarch actually chuckles, an odd smile on his face. "Then I would expect next year's Hunger Games to be quite unforgettable."

I don't even want to think about it.

"That reminds me." Plutarch fishes around in his pocket for a moment before producing a vial that's filled with purple capsules. "We named them _nightlock_ in your honor, Katniss," he says, as if I should be pleased. "The rebels can't afford for any of us to be captured now. But I promise it will be completely painless."

I'm wondering where to put the pill when Plutarch taps my left sleeve. There's a tiny pocket just big enough to conceal the capsule, but small enough to remain inconspicuous. Even if my hands were tied, I'd still be able to lean my head forward and bite it free. It appears Cinna has thought of everything.

That doesn't matter though. I have no intention of ever swallowing this little capsule of death.

The hovercraft lands in a wide street on the outskirts of District 8. Within seconds, the stairs drop down and everyone steps out onto the ground. The moment the last person exits the craft, it immediately launches into the air and vanishes.

I'm left with my bodyguard, which consists of Boggs, Gale, Rye, and one other. I don't know his name. The television crew consists of two broad-shouldered men with large mobile cameras that encase their bodies like an insect shell. Cressida, a short woman with a tattooed shaven head of green vines, is the director. Her assistant, Messalla, is a slight young man with multiple earring piercings and even a tongue piercing. I note that the stud is silver and about the size of a marble.

How he even manages to shut his mouth and look normal amazes me.

We hardly linger for more than a few seconds before Boggs is ushering us off the main road to a section of warehouses. Boggs walks in front of me, while I'm flanked by Rye and Gale. As we're walking, a second hovercraft lands and a medical team emerges from the craft. I can tell because of their white uniforms. Crates of medical supplies are quickly unloaded by the six of them.

Boggs continues to lead us through a narrow alleyway between two warehouses. Dull and gray, the tight space simply seems dreary. Only the occasional access ladder interrupts the battered metal walls. However, when we finally emerge into the street, the sight that greets my eyes makes me want nothing more than to stick to the dull gray tunnel we'd passed through.

The area is bustling with life and yet reeks of death and illness. Patients are being carried on whatever is available. Some have made homemade stretchers, but most vessels that carry the casualties are whatever is around and capable of the task. Wheelbarrows. Carts. Slung over a strong shoulder. Clenched tight in arms. It's a horror scene from my mother's kitchen times a hundred. Broken, bleeding, limbless forms surround me, and I begin to panic.

Why send me here? I can't do this. Didn't they see how hard it was for me to take care of Peeta when he was hurt in our first Games? I don't do well with other's pain.

"This won't work," I choke as I try not to listen to the pained moans that seem to multiply just to spite me. "I won't be good here."

Boggs must see my panic because he places his hands on my shoulders. "You will. Just let them see you. That will do more for them than any doctor in the world could."

A woman who is directing patients into the makeshift hospital suddenly spots us, does a double take, and then begins to quickly stride toward us. She looks just as ragged as everyone else, her eyes puffy with fatigue. She smells of metal and sweat. A bandage that should have been changed days ago wraps around her neck. The strap of her automatic weapon is digging into her neck and she repositions it. Wordlessly, she orders the medics behind us to the hospital with a mere jerk of her head. The medics obey immediately.

"This is Commander Paylor of 8," Boggs introduces. "Commander, this is Soldier Katniss Mellark."

Automatically, my positive feelings for Boggs skyrocket. He's the first person in 13 to introduce me or address me as Katniss Mellark. Not that I have any problem with my maiden name. I'll always be an Everdeen, and I'll always be proud of it. But I'm a Mellark now, too, and I'm thrilled that someone has finally acknowledged it.

"Yeah, I know who she is," Paylor says. Even though she's young, probably only in her mid-thirties, I can see why she already holds such a high rank. The authoritative tone in her voice brooks no room for argument. Her appointment was not arbitrary. "You're alive then. We weren't sure."

Is that accusation in her tone, or am I hearing things?

"I've been recovering," I reply crisply, not wanting her to think that I'm weak and have been hiding out in 13.

Paylor's eyes dart to my stomach, which is still noticeably rounded, despite the fact that black is supposed to be a slimming color and I'm wearing armor. "Sure you want to be here, Mockingjay?"

My eyes narrow. "Absolutely." I'm tired of people questioning my decision to be here, even if the pesky little voice in the back of my head (that sounds oddly like Peeta) is telling me to get the hell out of here.

"She insisted on coming by to see your wounded," Boggs says.

""Well, we've got plenty of those," Paylor retorts before taking a step back and motioning us forward. "Come on in, Mockingjay. And by all means, bring your friends."

As we walk, Gale bends slightly to whisper to me, "It's not a good idea," he says. "Assembling the wounded like this."

He's right. Any sort of contagious disease would spread like wildfire. But before I can respond, Rye beats me to it. "I think it's slightly better than leaving them to die. Besides, I don't think they have many other options."

Gale falls into silence, apparently having accepted Rye's answer, or simply having chosen not to comment. Not that there's time. We enter the hospital and I'm almost immediately overwhelmed by the stench of death, disease, and decay. I'm not allowed to stay in here too long, for fear of picking up some virus that could possibly harm the baby, so I know we'll have to be quick without seeming rushed. Always a tricky practice.

A thick, heavy curtain runs the length of the substantial warehouse, creating a wide corridor. Corpses with white sheets drawn over them line the hall, the line of dead seeming endless. "We've got a mass grave started a few blocks west of here, but I can't spare the manpower to move them yet," Paylor explains before finding a slit in the curtain and pulling it back.

Impulsively, I clutch Gale and Rye's wrists. "Do not leave my side," I plead under my breath.

"I'm right here," Gale assures me.

"Got your back, sweetcheeks," Rye adds.

When we step through the curtain, I'm assaulted. Not by a person, no, but by my senses. If I thought that the smell of the decaying corpses were bad, it's nothing compared to the horrific reek that's filling my nostrils. Putrefying flesh. Blood. Infection. Soiled linen. Vomit. The cacophony of smells all mold together to form one revolting aroma that's only amplified by the heat of the room. Skylights have been opened in hopes of somewhat alleviating the stench, but I don't know if it's doing too much good. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I'm able to see row upon row of cots or pallets, all filled patients. Every available space is being used and so the remaining patients lie on the floor.

Sound is what penetrates my mind next. Cries of loved ones, moans of those in pain, and the cringe-inducing drone of black flies all mutate together in one terrible dissonance. Black spots swim in front of my eyes and for a moment I'm afraid I'll faint. But it's the look in Commander Paylor's eyes, one that's judging to see what I'm made of, if I'm really the person people should put their faith in, that allows me to pull myself together. I won't crumble.

So I let go of Gale and Rye's wrists and begin to walk through the closest row of patients.

"Katniss?" A croaky voice calls to me and I pause in my procession, trying to identify the cry that has broken through the general din. "Katniss?" A hand grasps mine, and I look down to my right to see a young woman whose leg is wrapped in heavy bandages. Still, blood has leaked through and black flies swarm the wound. Pain is clear on her features, but there's something else. Something that seems completely out of place, given the situation. Excitement.

"Is it really you?" she asks, sounding hopeful.

I open my mouth to speak, but my throat feels too tight. Still, I manage to choke out, "Yeah, it's me."

At the sound of my voice, her face brightens to reflect pure joy, completely eradicating the pain on her face for just a moment. "You're alive! We didn't know. People said you were, but we didn't know!"

"I got pretty banged up," I explain. Everyone will think I mean physically, and I won't dissuade them differently. My emotional state is what ails me, but they don't need to know that. "But I got better, just as you will."

"I've got to tell my brother!" The woman struggles to sit up slightly so she can call to someone a few beds down. "Eddy! Eddy! She's here! It's Katniss Everdeen!"

A boy looks up at the sound of his name. Bandages obscure half of his face, as his mouth opens as if to shout an exclamation. I move to him, easing down onto my haunches so we're almost face to face. I run a gentle hand through his brown curls, murmuring a greeting. He doesn't answer, but he stares at me with his good eye with such intensity that it's as though he's trying to memorize every detail of my face.

Slowly, my name begins to ripple throughout the room. "It's Katniss! Katniss! Katniss Everdeen!" The despair in the air begins to lift, replaced with a renewed hope. I walk through the aisles, grasping extended hands, murmuring hello, how are you, and good to meet you. Nothing of great consequence, but that doesn't matter. Boggs was right. Just seeing me is enough.

Despite his treasonous interview, many ask about Peeta. They assure me that they know he was speaking under duress. It's the sincerity in their wishes for Peeta and I to be reunited that causes tears to well in my eyes. Snow hadn't needed us to convince the people of mine and Peeta's love. It's obvious that they are not blind to the love Peeta and I share.

Rye gets many interesting looks since he and Peeta resemble each other so uncannily. Initially, some people actually thought he was Peeta, and then he had to disappoint them with the truth. I wonder how he feels about all this. Does he feel resentment? Because the people want his brother and not him? Is he angry for the same reason? No. That's not Rye. Knowing Rye, he's just as disappointed as the patients that Peeta isn't here to shake their hand. Because, at least if Peeta were here with us, we'd know that he was okay.

Many people also inquire about the baby. One woman is in tears due to her relief. Being a mother of six, she was constantly worrying about the dangers I faced in the arena. The time I went without water. Our many battles. The fog. Everything that could possibly cause a miscarriage and yet I still managed to save my child. I tell her that I couldn't have done it without Peeta and the rest of our allies, and the woman nods. "He'll make a wonderful father," she says, grasping my hand in both of hers. "Take care of yourself, Katniss. He's waiting for you."

_He's waiting for you. _The words strike me, but I push them into the back of my mind. I can't focus on them right now. Patients. I have to comfort the patients. Be the Mockingjay.

It's only now that I realize the journey Peeta and I felt we were making alone, we've shared with thousands. They've been behind us the entire time in our ongoing struggle against the Capitol. And even though Peeta is currently captive in the Capitol, I realize that we've been the Mockingjays long before I accepted the title and despite the fact that Peeta probably doesn't have a clue he's a 'Mockingjay' in the first place.

An exhilarating feeling begins to flow through me. A strange sensation that's equally frightening and exciting. It's not until I'm about to leave, standing at the end of the warehouse, listening to the hoarse chant of my name that I realize what the feeling is. Power. I have it, a kind I never knew I possessed. Snow knew it when I pulled out those berries. Plutarch knew it when he rescued me from the arena, and now Coin knows it, too. And she fears its potency so much that she had to publicly remind those of 13 that I am not in control.

Once we're outside again, I breathe in the fresher air like I'm starving for oxygen. I accept a canteen of water from Rye. "You did great," he says, giving me a small encouraging smile. "Riveting performance."

I feel my lips twist into a responding smile despite myself. "Yeah, I'm sure it was."

"We got some nice stuff in there," Cressida pipes up, sounding genuine.

I totally forgot about the camera crew that's been following me. I take in their appearance. The two cameramen are sweating bullets in their insect suits, and Messalla is scribbling notes. I can't believe I actually forgot they were there.

"I didn't do much, really." I'll never be able to accept a compliment, something Peeta playfully chides me endlessly for.

_You'll never be able to accept a compliment, will you?_

"You have to give yourself some credit for what you've done in the past," Boggs says.

My past? You mean the past that's so far been riddled with destruction? The only light being Peeta? He's now being tortured. Not even Prim, not even Haymitch or Gale or Rye can comfort me.

I lean against the wall. "That's a mixed bag."

"Well, you're not perfect by a long shot. But times being what they are, you'll have to do."

Gale leans against the wall beside me, shaking his head. "I can't believe you let all those people touch you. I kept expecting you to make a break for the door." So did I, but I always managed to quell the urge. "Your mother's going to be very proud when she sees the footage."

"My mother won't even notice me," I say. "She'll be too appalled by the conditions in there." I turn to Boggs, asking, "Is it like this in every district?"

"Yes. Most are under attack. We're trying to get in aid wherever we can, but it's not enough." Suddenly, Boggs pauses, as if listening to something. I realize it's his earpiece. Instantly, I fiddle with mine as the fact finally dawns on me that I've yet to hear Haymitch's voice barking in my ear.

"We're to get to the airstrip," Boggs announces authoritatively. "Immediately!" He lifts me to my feet with one hand. "There's a problem."

I hear Peeta's voice in my head, spewing a stream of his rare, prolific cursing.

"What kind of problem?" Gale asks warily.

"Incoming bombers," Boggs replies as he yanks my helmet over my head. "Let's move!"

Immediately, Rye and Gale are on either side of me, Boggs leading the way once again as we begin a sprint along the front of one of the warehouses, heading for the ally that leads to the airstrip. I look all around me, but I don't see any sign of an impending attack. Just a blue, summer sky, exactly the color of Peeta's eyes.

Suddenly, sirens begin to wail. My eyes return to the sky and I see low-flying Capitol hovercraft in a V formation. I have just enough time to listen to more of Peeta's fervent curses in my mind before the world falls ominously silent. . .

Until the bombs begin to fall, and I'm blown off my feet.

* * *

**Oh, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss . . . not your brightest idea to go into a warzone. Even a supposed "safe" warzone. Seriously, the phrase just reeks of oxymoron.**

**And so, in summary: Katniss made a dumb decision, Gale and Rye are on the brink of a prank war, Haymitch is plotting to steal back from Coin the alcohol he so desperately needs, Plutarch and Fulvia are nominating Gale for The Bachelor, Peter Jackson is in talks with Coin about her being the new Gollum, Finnick is posing provocatively, and Peeta is . . . well . . . he's playing poker with his guards again.  
**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Dr. Riley! Yep, we're meeting her next chapter!  
**

**"Never underestimate the will to live, Katniss."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	6. Skyfall

**A/N: Wow, you guys! Seriously, ease up on your very gratuitous display of awesomeness. These reviews? They're the epitome of epicness. They. Make. My. Day.  
**

**So please continue to make my day. :)  
**

**This chapter has a LOT more action than the last. I'm excited. Very excited. Mainly because we finally get to meet Dr. Riley, who will have a very crucial role to play for the rest of the story. So, I hope you like her.  
**

**********************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

**********************Me: This chapter is very explosive.  
**

**********************Rye: Is that a pun?  
**

**********************Katniss: Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Bombs were being dropped at the end of the last chapter. I've been flying through the air since Monday.  
**

**********************Gale: Impressive.  
**

**********************Me: I know, right? I defy the laws of physics.  
**

**********************Haymitch: I'm about to drop a bomb if you don't start the chapter already.  
**

**********************Me: Oh, hush. You can't do anything unless I deem it so. I'm that powerful. Face it, you have no free will. Everything you do, I command.  
**

**********************Peeta: Seriously, she's right. I mean, can you believe she hasn't rescued me yet? And she says she loves me!  
**

**********************Me: Oh, Studly, I do love you, I swear.  
**

**********************Peeta: Yeah, I can tell. I'm really feeling the love . . . from my cell . . . in the Capitol . . .  
**

**********************Me: (sighs) It's necessary, I tell you! Trust me. After you recover from the horror I will inflict upon you, you'll be a total badass.  
**

**********************Coin: PLEASE MOVE ON WITH THE CHAPTER ALREADY! THAT WAY I CAN KILL YOU ALL SOONER!  
**

**********************Everyone: SHUT UP!  
**

* * *

Chapter 6: Skyfall

_Let the sky fall, when it crumbles_

_We will stand tall and face it all together  
_

_Let the sky fall, when it crumbles  
_

_We will stand tall and face it all together  
_

_At skyfall  
_

* * *

For a terrifying second, I'm flying through the air, headed straight toward the wall of the warehouse. And then in the next second, a pair of arms wrap around me and spin us around. My impact is softened spectacularly, but hearing Rye's pained groan behind me, I know that it is at his own personal cost. Gale and Boggs are immediately in front of me, shielding, their weapons raised to fire. Rye shifts behind me so that I'm pressed into the wall with the three of them surrounding me.

The ground shakes angrily as bomb after bomb is dropped. It's horrifying being pinned to the wall, helpless as the earth threatens to implode around you. I am so stupid. So incredibly stupid. This was a terrible idea. It was reckless and impulsive and I can't believe that I was actually able to convince myself that this was the right thing to do, coming here to 8. I broke mine and Peeta's unspoken promise to each other. Always protect the baby, no matter what. Hadn't I been prepared to leave Peeta to the fog during the Games? And Peeta has already sacrificed himself in order to protect the baby.

By coming here, I've practically thrown it all back in his face.

Suddenly, I hear Haymitch barking in my ear. "Katniss!"

"I'm here!" I assure him quickly, a begging quality in my voice that I've never heard. It screams, "Please get me out of here!"

"Listen to me," Haymitch orders gruffly, and the tone is oddly soothing. "We can't land during the bombing, but it's imperative you're not spotted."

"So they don't know I'm here?" I question, having assumed that it was my presence that brought on this attack.

"Intelligence thinks no. That this raid was already scheduled." There's a hint of vindication in Haymitch's voice. This was his point he made to Coin about sending me out here. There could always be another raid.

Plutarch's voice suddenly fills my ears, his tone full of calm authority. The voice of a Head Gamemaker. "There's a light blue warehouse three blocks down from you. It has a bunker in the far north corner. Can you get there?"

"We'll do our best," Boggs replies.

Plutarch must be in everyone's ear because Rye and Gale appear on either side of me.

_Stick to her like glue, _Haymitch had told them. I know that they would have without the order, but I'm still comforted by their presence. My eyes quickly look both of them up and down. Although Rye will undoubtedly suffer a bruised back from colliding with the wall, he and Gale seem otherwise unharmed.

Plutarch invades my ears again. "You've got maybe forty-five seconds until the next wave."

Immediately, I'm sprinting faster than I ever have, fueled by the intense desire to get myself and the baby to the safest location available. My ire at my own idiocy in coming here hasn't begun to fade and I doubt it will anytime soon. It's my chagrin and guilt that allows me to move even faster, knowing that by coming here I basically threw away Peeta's sacrifice.

Boggs leads the way, sprinting ahead of us, while Gale and Rye match my pace, staying on either side of me. The fourth guard I'm guessing is somewhere behind me. I'm grateful for Cinna's continuing brilliance. The boots I wear grip the asphalt on contact and then spring free as I propel myself forward. I'd be hopeless if I'd been forced to wear the ill-fitting shoes 13 supplied me with.

We pass a second warehouse, darting down a dirt alleyway. I spot a faded blue building up ahead, and it's the sight of my refuge that prompts my legs to pump even faster. We're just fifty yards away when the telltale whistling of a dropping bomb pierces the air. Not a second later, the ground quakes beneath us, causing us all to stumble a little bit. Gale is the one who pins me to the ground against the nearest wall this time, though Rye is not even a second behind him. The shaking earth isn't as forceful now, since we're further from the dropping bombs.

My calf is beginning to cramp due to the quick, twisted position I took in order to protect myself. Trying to situate myself a bit more comfortably, I shift and find myself looking directly into Gale's eyes. "You alright?" he asks, though his words can barely be heard over the explosions.

"Just peachy!" Rye calls and Gale scowls.

"Wasn't talking to you, Mellark!"

"I'm fine," I tell Gale, somehow able to be slightly amused by the bickering between my two guards. "I don't think they've seen me. I mean, they're not following me."

"No, they've targeted something else," Gale says.

"I know, but there's nothing back there except . . ." I trail off as the realization hits me. My heart shrieks in horror at the despicable nature of the Capitol.

Gale and Rye reach the same conclusion I have. "The hospital." Immediately, Gale is up and yelling, "They're targeting the hospital!"

"Not your problem," Plutarch voices sternly. "Get to the bunker."

"But there's nothing there but the wounded!" I cry angrily in despair.

"Katniss." The warning in Haymitch's tone is clear. "Get to the bunker. Run."

_If I tell you to run, you had better damn well run faster than you ever have. _His words from earlier ring in my ear. And as much as it pains me, I do exactly as my mentor instructed. Boggs hauls me up by my arm and then we're all running again.

As we pass the building I hear machine gun fire. Someone is fighting back. I long to climb up to a rooftop and use the Capitol hovercraft for target practice, but I'm not jeopardizing my safety again. I won't make the same mistake twice.

We reach the bunker in the next few seconds and the moment I'm hunkered down, all of us take a minute to catch our breath. Finally, Gale says, "Never seen you run so fast, Catnip."

"I was motivated," I reply simply, yet the depth of my statement doesn't go unnoticed. I wasn't just running to save myself.

Again, I ruminate on my own stupidity. My head thuds dully against the stone wall behind me and I close my eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I have reached a new level of stupidity, one that should never be achieved by anyone. What in the hell was I thinking throwing myself out here? Yes, visiting the hospital here was the safest place for me but there was still dangerous unpredictability written all over it. Everything can change in a second.

How had I rationalized this decision in my mind? The fact that Coin threatened Peeta's immunity, that's how. Whether it was a bluff or not, it still got to me, exactly like she'd known it would. In the past month, I have never felt more helpless. There is absolutely nothing that I can actively do to help Peeta. He's all on his own in the hell of the Capitol dungeons. Being the Mockingjay, I can use my sway to spare him from being labeled a war criminal, but that's only if we win the war. What if he doesn't last that long? What if his seeming infinite strength fails? Coin played on my worry and guilt in order to get me to agree to this, knowing that I would rationalize the decision in my mind.

Why hadn't I seen that? Peeta would have.

It's time for me to grow up and stand on my own two feet. It's not until now that I realize just how much I've relied on Peeta's instincts, his penchant for ferreting out false motives and seeing through the web of lies and trickery. I need to use my own brain. I need to stop being on the offensive, attacking impulsively and leaping without looking; instead, work on defense, laying low and keeping myself alive. Defense.

Protecting my child is the only thing that matters. Peeta would want me to hang back and take care of myself and let him take point. He and Haymitch would have launched into the ultimate game of chess with Coin. He would have refused to be played as a pawn, while at the same time not being arrogant enough to defy Coin blatantly. I wonder if Coin would still think Peeta was the better choice to save then. He's smart enough to see through her smokescreens. Perhaps, in a way, he would have been more difficult to deal with than I am.

I know exactly what I'm telling Coin the minute I get back to 13. No more field work. None. I'll still do propos, but they will be in the studio. Will that probably grate on her nerves just a little? Definitely. Do I really care? Not in the slightest.

Haymitch was right in the beginning, when he said that for now, I'm safe from Coin. I'm still the image of the rebels. I'm the symbol and my unborn child has been ensnared in the image as well, a personification of the new life that a rebel victory will bring. Coin can't touch me now, and she knows it. I plan on using that to my advantage.

I'm torn from my thoughts when the ground stops shaking and the explosive thunder in the sky ceases. Boggs gets to his feet, but motions for us to stay put. Hesitantly, he hedges out of the bunker and disappears for a minute. When he returns, he waves us forward. It's safe for now.

Once we're outside again, my first instinct is to breathe the fresher air, but the smell of smoke in the air is so thick that I manage to resist the urge. My eyes search the skyline and even from here I can see the bright orange flames and plume of black smoke coming from the hospital. Without much of a thought, my feet begin to carry me toward the wreckage.

Gale and Rye are on either side of me, both of them tense and alert, but I know that they're just as worried about the carnage we all know we're about to see. I see Messalla and one of the insects emerging from behind an air duct, and I realize that they didn't follow us to the bunker. The camera crew stayed and filmed the attack. Well, you can't say they aren't dedicated.

Cressida suddenly appears, ducking out from another alley. She catches sight of me, and quickly begins to wave me over, wanting me to follow her. I pick up my pace a little as she jogs toward the hospital. She's yelling into her earpiece. "I don't care, Plutarch! Just give me five minutes!"

When I clear the alleyway and emerge onto the street, I freeze, my eyes taking in the horrific scene before me. Burning hovercrafts flicker dully compared to the hospital, which is completely ablaze. People are screaming, both inside and outside of the building. Everyone in the street is running about frantically, desperate to do something to help, but none of them know what they can do. A rescue team appears to be in the process of being organized, to at least try to save some of the patients, but I know it's fruitless. They will find no one alive. If any of the patients somehow managed to elude the flames and the debris, Death will still take them with his smoke.

Gale remains at my side, and the fact that he hasn't lurched forward to help confirms my thoughts. Miners never abandon an accident unless it's hopeless.

"Come on, Katniss," Rye says quietly, his hand gently gripping my arm to lead me away. "Haymitch says they can get a hovercraft in for us now."

He tugs slightly on my arm, but I remain rooted to my spot. I can't seem to take my eyes away from the burning hospital, the faint cries of the dying haunting my ears. "Why would they do that?" I whisper. "Why would they target people who were already dying?"

"Scare others off. Prevent the wounded from seeking help." Gale's answer comes quick and sure. "Those people you met, they were expendable—to Snow, anyway. If the Capitol wins, what will it do with a bunch of damaged slaves?"

His words cut to the bone, but he's right. I remember all the days of listening to Gale rant and dissect the Capitol's motives. I never saw a reason to think like the enemy, why it would matter. But it's in times like these that it could have mattered. Earlier, Gale wasn't thinking of disease when he questioned putting all the wounded together in one place. He was thinking of this. Because Gale never underestimates the cruelty of the Capitol.

I don't want to be here anymore. So I turn my back on the slaughter behind me. However, I'm met with a new sight. The insects are in front of me a few yards away, Cressida standing right beside them. She looks cool and collected, oddly out of place in this situation. Her microphone is at her lips when she speaks. "Katniss, President Snow just had them air the bombing live. Then he made an appearance to say that this was his way of sending a message to the rebels. What about you? Would you like to tell the rebels anything?"

What? They're really going to film me now? After all that just happened? People, innocent people, have just been murdered. For no reason really. Just the sadistic pleasure of power . . . and that's when I realize that I do have something to say. This war can only end one of two ways, but if I go down, I'm going to make damn sure to take Snow with me.

He needs to know that. He needs to see that I'm still fighting. I will not break.

"Yes," I say, my voice firm and steady. I sense more than see Gale and Rye fade into the background, away from the camera's line of sight. The red light of the camera stares at me, and I glare right back at it. "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District 8, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors." They were victims of senseless murder, and my fury peaks as I remember some of the people I met only hours ago. Like little Eddy. "I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." I extend my arms out, gesturing to the carnage behind me. "_This_ is what they do! And we must fight back!"

My feet carry me forward, stalking toward the camera, rage threatening to consume me. "President Snow says he's sending us a message?" I spit angrily. "Well, I have one for him. You can torture us"—my voice cracks as I think of Peeta, but I don't pause—"and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" I point to the wreckage of one of the downed hovercraft, the Capitol seal emblazoned on its wing glowing with flames. "Fire is catching!" I shout, determined that Snow sees how I refuse to break. "And if we burn, you burn with us!"

My words hang suspended in the air for a pregnant pause, and then it's snapped when Cressida calls, "Cut! That's a wrap."

The moment the cameras are shut off Gale and Rye are back at my sides again, leading me after Boggs toward the airstrip. Everyone is relatively silent on the way back to 13. Haymitch only has one paternal moment when he greets me at the stairs, grabs me by the shoulders, looks me over from head to toe, and then says, "I'm supposed to die of a bad liver, not a heart attack."

This hovercraft is different from the one that took us. It's cramped and uncomfortable. There are no cushioned benches this time around. Conversation, like I said before, is virtually nonexistent. In fact, halfway back I end up falling asleep on Gale's shoulder.

When I wake up it's because I'm moving. My lids flicker open and in my sleepy haze I almost trick myself into thinking that the blurry vision of a blonde haired, blue eyed boy staring down at me is Peeta. However, a half-second after the thought passes through my mind, I realize that the arms securing me don't feel like Peeta's.

"Rye?" I question groggily, and he smiles a little.

"Wakey, wakey," he says, the lightness in his tone dampened somewhat by the obvious exhaustion in his tone. "Gale went to see his family," Rye answers before I can even ask. "He didn't have time to tell them he was leaving before we headed to 8."

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, looking around.

"Hospital," Rye replies and I groan.

"Okay, first off, put me down," I demand. "I may be pregnant, but I'm not an invalid. Secondly, why in the hell are you taking me to the hospital? I'm fine."

"You feel fine," Rye corrects. "I want to know what's going on in there," he says, poking at my stomach.

Only because he's Rye do I resist the urge to break his finger. Why people think that my pregnant stomach is now available to touch escapes me. There are only a handful of people allowed to touch my stomach. Peeta, Rye, and Prim are a given. I wouldn't mind if Haymitch placed his hand on my stomach, though I can't imagine him ever doing so. Same with Gale.

But the point is that I wouldn't be tempted to shoot them if they tried.

"Come on, it won't be that bad," Rye says as my silence stretches on. "Don't tell me you're pouting."

"I'm not pouting," I snap irritated, my voice harsher than I meant for it to be. "Sorry," I apologize with a sigh. "I'm just a little . . . stressed."

"Please tell me you don't plan on going out there again," Rye says as we walk through the doors of the hospital. "Because I don't know if my back can take getting blasted into any more walls."

"I'm never going out there again," I tell him resolutely. "No more battle zones, even if it's supposed to be in the all clear."

Rye sighs in relief, nodding. "Good to hear, sweetcheeks."

We're split up then, a nurse each pulling us to different sections of the hospital. Rye just gets to sit in the emergency room. Me? I'm special. I get to go to the special doctors. They have a fancy name that I can never remember. All I know is that all their patients are pregnant.

My doctor, Dr. Riley, is a woman in her early sixties. She's sharp and shrewd and it's pointless to try to talk yourself out of trouble with her because she just won't hear it. But I've learned that she does have a soft side. After all, she's one of the few native to 13 that's a grandmother. I've met one of her grandkids, a little toddler named Aaron with the warmest chocolate brown eyes. Somehow, during my earlier weeks in 13 when I'd been on the brink of giving in to my grief, Aaron convinced me to play hide and seek with him. I'd found out later that it had been Dr. Riley's idea.

I'm lead into my usual room and sit on the weird bed/chair. Nerves begin to tangle in my stomach as I wait for Dr. Riley. She's going to chew me up and spit me out for going to District 8. She'll show no mercy.

So when she storms in, her thin-wire glasses askew, her grey hair looking rather wild, and her thin lips pursed into an even thinner line, I know that she dropped whatever it was she was doing just to come rip me a new one.

I'm right.

"Girl, you are so many shades of stupid, you could make a rainbow! What in the hell are you thinking?" she snaps as she rips a pair of gloves from the dispenser on the wall. "Didn't I tell you to _take it easy?_" I don't bother trying to interrupt to defend myself. It won't do any good. "Three little words. Take. It. Easy. This does _not_ mean that you go gallivanting out into a _warzone _where people drop _bombs _that can _kill_ you and your baby. Or, worse yet, you live and then lose the baby. Now, isn't that exactly the thing we don't want to happen?" Again, I don't bother answering. "It's exactly the thing we don't want to happen! It's why you are here with me so I can check you over. It's why your husband sacrificed himself to the Capitol. And so do you mind enlightening me on what was going on in that little brain of yours? Hmm?"

"I'm sorry—"

"That's not what I asked, girl," Dr. Riley interrupts as she readies the sonogram. "I don't want to hear your apologies because what you did is the epitome of stupidity and is inexcusable. I want to know what twisted logic led you to believe that going into a warzone while five months pregnant is a good thing."

"I never thought it was a good thing," I snap, my arms wrapped around my torso defensively. "Part of being the Mockingjay is making propos, but I'm not good with cameras like Peeta. I can't say anything remotely genuine unless it's unscripted. Haymitch was making the point to everyone in Command, and then at the end of it Coin said that sending me into combat would provoke some spontaneity in me. Haymitch argued, but . . ." I stare at Dr. Riley, whose back is to me. You'd think she was ignoring me, but I know she's listening to every word. And right now I'm debating whether I'm going to tell her of Coin's implied threat. How would she take it? As a person having grown up in 13?

"But what?" she prompts me, and I decide to go ahead and take the plunge.

"She implied that she would revoke Peeta's immunity if I didn't go," I say quickly and then it's like the words can't come out of my mouth fast enough. "I didn't know if it was a bluff or not, but I didn't want to risk it. I know that it was stupid of me to go into 8, but she played on my guilt because I can't do a damn thing to save Peeta and he's all on his own going through all that pain and even though she can't possibly know how much pain that thought causes me, she knows it pains me." I curse the tears that have welled in my eyes as I continue, my voice less hurried, but more strained. "It kills me. Knowing that I'm safe here, while he's being . . . being . . ." I swallow, forcing myself to say the word. "Tortured. And it's all for _me_. I know that it's not my fault, but—"

"It feels like it," Dr. Riley finishes with an understanding nod.

She turns back around to face me, her expression nowhere near as harsh as it was previously. The grandmotherly affection I've seen glimpses of begins to shine through a little. "Alright, get out of that monkey suit so I can see what's going on in there," she orders. A few minutes later she's rubbing that cold goo over my stomach that makes me shiver every time. Both of us look up at the screen as she maneuvers her wand over my stomach. I see the tiny image of my baby on the screen and feel the familiar itch in my eyes as I fight back more tears. This happens every time. Because Peeta isn't here to share it with me. He should be here.

Dr. Riley is silent for an agonizing few minutes before she grunts and shakes her head. "That kid is tough as nails," she announces and I sag in relief. "While we're here, might as well ask. You want to know if it's a boy or a girl?"

I hesitate. A part of me desperately wants to know if it's the boy that I've always believed. But another part of me doesn't want to know. For one reason only. Peeta isn't here. He's already missed so much. I won't take this experience away from him. "No," I reply quietly. "I don't want to know."

Dr. Riley raises her eyebrows fractionally, but doesn't comment. She wipes the goo off my stomach and lets me dress. However, once I'm dressed and ready to go, I don't leave. I know that Dr. Riley still has a few words for me.

"You love them both very much," she states, referring to Peeta and the baby. "I don't envy your position, Katniss. Frankly, it sucks. But, sweetie, you've got to do what's best for you." Dr. Riley sweeps away some of the hair that has fallen into my eyes in a very grandmotherly way. "It's not just you, now, you know. When I said to keep active, I meant in a healthy way. Like taking a nice, easy walk. Not full-out sprinting trying to get away from an air raid."

"I'm sorry," I say pathetically, but this time Dr. Riley doesn't retort with a snappy reply.

"I know you are," she says. "I'm glad you realize that you're currently number one on my Idiots to Watch Out For list."

Despite everything, my lips twist up in a half smile.

"Katniss, keep a little faith," Dr. Riley suggests in that soft, stern way of hers. "From what I've seen, your man can survive. Not just because he's physically strong, but because his will is even stronger." She wipes away a tear that's managed to escape me. "As a doctor, I've seen some miraculous things. People who should have died, but managed to hold on."

"Never underestimate the will to live, Katniss," she orders gently, squeezing my hand. "He'll keep fighting because he has something to live for."

I nod, soaking in her words greedily. I'm very aware that my emotional state rests upon the tip of a knife. Just a push to far and I'll give in to the grief . . . go back to that empty place I only visited briefly during my week of recovery. I've managed to persevere, relying on my inner strength that as of yet remains unbreakable, finding ways to make it seem as though I'm working toward getting Peeta back. But there are days, like today, when I feel myself tip in the opposite direction. When all I want to do is give in and cry for Peeta and the pain I know he's in.

So I ingrain Dr. Riley's words in my mind, as a weapon to use against my constant battle with grief. Peeta has a will to live. Both of us do. We have the ability to endure. Peeta is strong enough. He'll live. For me.

And I'll never stop fighting to get him back.

"I'll see you in a few weeks, okay?" Dr. Riley grabs my attention once more. "And so help me if I hear you did something so completely idiotic as frolicking off into a warzone again, I will make your life a living hell. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good."

I leave Dr. Riley and the hospital entirely, managing to avoid my mother. She'd try to scold me, too, but I think Dr. Riley left her with nothing new to dish out. Rye is sitting in a chair, waiting for me. "You okay?" he asks anxiously.

"We're fine," I assure him. "Thanks to you."

Rye isn't capable of being sheepish, but the look on his face is as close as he'll ever get. "There's plenty of time to talk about my heroics," he says lightly as he throws an arm over my shoulder and leads us out of the hospital. "But, regrettably, we're due in Command."

I groan.

"Yeah, that was my response, too. Command fills me with this urge to jump off something very tall."

When we enter Command, most everyone is already there. However, Coin's presence is noticeably absent, hence why everyone is milling about and chatting quietly. I see Cressida, Messalla, and the two cameramen, or the 'insects' as I've dubbed them in my mind. Somehow, oddly enough, I get the feeling that if we were in the Games together, I would want them as allies.

Messalla sees me and waves me over with a big smile. "There's our star!" he praises.

I respect the camera team in front of me. For having stayed outside during the bombing to get quality footage, and then arguing with Plutarch to get in my little speech. They take pride in their work. Like Cinna.

All of them are smiling genuinely at me, and I can't help but smile back. I turn to the two cameramen who are obviously brothers. Red hair, blue eyes, same build. "I have to stop referring to you as the 'insects,'" I admit, sounding a bit sheepish as I explain how I came about the nickname. Neither seem offended. One of the brothers introduces himself as Castor and the other as Pollux. I wait for Pollux to say hello, but he merely gives me a nod. Maybe he's a man of few words? However, as I study him a bit closer, taking in the slightly odd set of his lips and how it appears as though it's more difficult for him to swallow, I realize that my previous assumption is false. Pollux isn't a man of few words. He's a man of no words.

Pollux is an Avox.

I don't let my realization show on my face, I only return his gracious nod with one of my own. Rye lets his hand rest on the small of my back, a gentle gesture that reminds me so much of Peeta. He says a few words to the camera crew before excusing us and steering us toward Haymitch, who is still looking surly. Well, surlier than normal.

He looks me over once we're standing beside him and grunts, "That kid okay?"

"Fine," I assure him. "No need to worry, Gramps."

Haymitch scowls. "One, never call me that. Two, regrettably I'll always worry about you. Three, you're not going back out there."

"I know." My eyes narrow slightly as Coin enters the room, causing everyone to quickly wrap up their conversations and fall silent in respect. "And I'm about to tell her that in no uncertain terms."

Coin takes up her spot at the head of the table, and begins. "First off, I would like to congratulate our team that went into 8 today," she says. "While the raid was unexpected, it was handled well, and we kept our Mockingjay safe . . . not to mention we got some great footage, or so I've heard," she adds, before looking at Cressida. "How soon will you have a propo ready?"

"By twenty hundred hours, I suspect," Cressida replies promptly, having already given the idea thought.

"Wonderful," Coin praises with that spooky smile of hers. "Now, as I said before, I realize that the raid was unexpected, but I don't think we should let one surprise scare us. There's a safe zone in 11 that—"

"I'm not going," I interrupt Coin, causing many surprised, shocked stares. No one interrupts Coin. "There is no guarantee of my safety," I say firmly. "I'm not risking the baby again. It's not worth it."

No one can doubt the sincerity of my words, and by the immovable quality in my tone, they know that I will not be swayed. Coin knows that I will not be swayed. We hold a staring contest, and I refuse to wilt under her steely, yet somehow impassive glare. There's no telling how long it would have lasted because someone, one of the higher-ups that I don't know, speaks up.

"Then where will we find more propos?" he asks.

Cressida immediately comes to my aid. "We have some terrific footage of Katniss at the hospital in 8. There should be another propo in that with the theme 'Because you know who they are and what they do.' We'll focus on Katniss interacting with the patients, particularly the children"—no doubt playing on the fact that I'm an expectant mother—"the bombing of the hospital, and the wreckage. Messalla can cut that together. We're also thinking about a Mockingjay piece. Highlight some of Katniss's best moments intercut with scenes of rebel uprisings and war footage. We'll call that one 'Fire is catching.'" Cressia pauses before adding, "And Fulvia had a wonderful idea."

Fulvia, whose previous expression made it appear as though she'd swallowed something terribly sour, brightens in shock, but she recovers. "Well, I don't know how wonderful it is, but I was thinking we could do a series of propos called _We Remember. _In each one, we would feature one of the dead tributes. Little Rue from 11 or old Mags from 4. The idea being that we could target each district with a very personal piece."

"A tribute to your tributes, as it were," Plutarch notes.

"That is wonderful, Fulvia," I say sincerely. "It's the perfect way to remind people why they're fighting." It is also a way for me to stay out of dangerous situations, but that doesn't detract from the fact that I really do think it's a wonderful idea.

"I think it could work," Fulvia continues. "I thought we might use Finnick to intro and narrate the spots. If there was interest in them."

Coin nods. "I don't see how we could have too many _We Remember_ propos," she says. "Can you start producing them today?"

"Of course," Fulvia agrees, sounding eager, obviously mollified by the praise for her idea.

I note that Plutarch doesn't seem to have a need to share in the credit. That's when I realize that his success isn't measured in the success of a single element, but the success as a whole. If we win the war, then he will take his bow. And expect his reward.

Plutarch is definitely a Head Gamemaker.

I'm drawn from my thoughts when Coin speaks up. "Well, I'm glad that our team has once again proven that they're truly invaluable. With the footage we gained today and the ideas of others . . ." She nods at Fulvia. "We have enough quality propos . . . for now."

I open my mouth to reiterate the fact that I'm not going back out there, but Coin raises a silencing hand. Reluctantly, I obey. "I agree with you, Katniss. Sending you into 8, considering your physical state, was a rash decision." I'm waiting for the 'but' of her statement. "But we can't rely on used footage for too long. Therefore, I propose an alternative. One that is completely safe, with no fear for a surprise air raid."

"And that would be?" I prompt, not entirely impolite, but obviously not respectful.

"I would like to send you back to District 12," she says. "It's your home and quite obviously a defining part of who you are. I would also like for Gale, Rye, and Haymitch to be on the ground with you, each of you talking about your home. Memories of good times. A funny story. Let the people know exactly why you're fighting." Coin pauses, letting her words ruminate. "What do you say?"

I bite my lip. It _is_ a good idea, I'll give her that. And I can't deny that returning to 12 wouldn't give me a sense of peace. One, because it is home. No matter how blackened and burned it is. Two, it's closer to Peeta. I could go back to our house, maybe take a few more of his things. I might even venture into his art studio. I avoided it last time, out of respect, but I don't know if I'd be able to restrain myself a second time.

But what about Rye and Haymitch? And Gale? Would they want to walk amongst the rubble?

I'm reminded of my promise to myself that I was going to stay in 13. No more warzones, no more adventures. There's no guarantee for my safety. But this is District 12. District 12 is destroyed, abandoned by both the rebels and the Capitol.

But I won't make this decision. I don't trust myself. Not after my spectacularly flawed decision in going to 8. So I look up at Haymitch, who always knows the right thing to do. Not necessarily in the moral sense, but in the analytical sense. If he thinks it's safe, then it's safe.

He meets my gaze, and I know that he realizes the decision is up to him. That I'm trusting him with it. Finally, Haymitch looks up and locks eyes with Coin. "I want half a dozen hovercraft in the air, patrolling. Guards on the ground. Four hour time limit and then we're gone."

Coin nods curtly. "Agreed. You'll leave first thing tomorrow."

The meeting at Command is dismissed, though Gale lingers to talk with some of the higher-ups, including Coin. I keep forgetting that his Communicuff has granted him a higher status. He knows more of the ins and outs of this rebellion than me, but I don't mind. I trust him to tell me anything that I need to know. There have never been secrets between me and Gale.

I part ways with Haymitch and Rye, choosing to go down to the kennels to see Maya. Lieutenant Caine sees me and nods in acknowledgment, but I barely give her a cursory glance because all my attention is on an eighty pound white ball of fluff. Maya is sitting at the door of her pen, tail sweeping the ground behind her as she smiles at me.

The moment I free her from the pen, she attacks me with affection, and I heartily return it. This is what I needed. In a soft voice, I tell Maya all of what happened today. Endangering myself and my child by going to 8. I even bore her with tales of the future propos, but Maya just sits here, wagging her tail. It's wonderful.

There's no judgment in her eyes. Just pure adoration and love. Nothing I ever do will cause her to see me any differently. I'm very aware that this probably sounds a little silly, me taking so much consolation from a four-legged, furry being, but this is Maya. Oddly, she's the closest thing I'll ever have to a therapist.

The longer I'm with Maya, the more relaxed I begin to feel. Dr. Riley wants me to be as stress-free as possible. A tall order for me, considering everything, but I do try. Maya is a great help.

I'm struck with an idea, and before I can talk myself out of it, I go over to Lieutenant Caine and ask if I can borrow Maya for a few hours. Technically, Maya isn't supposed to leave the kennels unless needed for a job, but Caine eventually allows it. Happier than I've been all day, I beckon Maya over to me and both of us eagerly escape into the elevator.

I punch the floor for the hospital and wait impatiently for the metal cube to take me to my destination. The doors open and Maya is immediately at my side. She's sniffing around, sneezing at the chemicals in the air that are probably much more potent to her superior nose. We get weird looks, some of them shocked, some disapproving, but no one stops me. It probably helps that Maya isn't causing any trouble, just trotting along at my side, looking as amiable as possible.

When I reach the door I'm looking for, I knock to announce my presence and then open the door on my own. Finnick never answers the door, usually too consumed in his rampant knot tying. I'm greeted with a familiar sight. Finnick is sitting cross-legged on his bed, his eyes focused and yet far away as he stares at the rope his fingers are manipulating.

"Finnick?"

He glances up at me quickly before reverting back to his knot. "Hey, Katniss. Heard you got yourself into a bit of trouble today," he says. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I say. "We both are, but I have someone I want you to meet."

"Is it a particularly beautiful woman?" he tosses back, a little bit of his old self shining through.

"I certainly think so," I reply with a smile. "But maybe not the kind you'd expect."

Maya finally decides to announce her presence, yipping to get Finnick's attention. His eyes shoot to the animal at my feet, widening comically. "This is Maya," I introduce. "Maya, this is Finnick." Maya and Finnick both continue to stare at each other. "Well, don't be rude. Maya, shake."

Right on cue, Maya raises her front paw, waiting for Finnick to shake. A smile, a true smile, begins to form on Finnick's lips. He wraps his hand around Maya's paw and shakes it, "You are a lovely, girl," he admits.

Maya sits right by Finnick's bed so that she's easily within petting range. Finnick's fingers have already abandoned his rope, choosing instead to weave through her fur. I can't help but smile, especially when Maya rests her head on the edge of the bed. Finnick continues to pet Maya, scratching behind her ears occasionally. Of course, as long as he continues to pet her, Maya is content to stay where she is. It's a win-win.

I spend the next few hours with Finnick, even staying for dinner. The nurse eyes Maya warily, but the obvious change in Finnick must be enough for the nurse to allow Maya to stay. Truly, Finnick has slowly become more and more himself over the past few hours. He's a little bit quicker to joke. The wild light in his eye has faded somewhat, being replaced with a sadness I'm all too familiar with because I see it in my own eyes every time I look in the mirror. A mixture of sadness, despair, and most hauntingly, hope. Because both of us desperately hope that we'll be reunited with Peeta and Annie.

At twenty hundred hours, the television in the room immediately comes on. "Must be the propo," I murmur to Finnick, but both of us have our eyes trained on the TV.

At first, the screen is black, but then a single flickering flame appears that quickly multiplies and spreads into a roaring fire that consumes the screen. It looks so real I feel the need to flinch back from the heat. My mockingjay pin emerges from the flames, glowing brightly from the heat. Then a voice from my nightmares fills my ears, the deep voice of Claudius Templesmith, the voice of the Hunger Games. "Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, burns on."

I don't have time to wonder how they got Templesmith's voice because suddenly I'm on the screen, standing in front of the very real flames and smoke of District 8. _"I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District 8, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors." _Suddenly, they cut to some footage of the hospital, burning and collapsing in on itself. I can still hear the screams. They show some of the desperate onlookers as I continue in a voice over. _"I want to tell the people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." _They show me again, my arms spread out as I gesture to the flaming massacre behind me. _"This is what they do! And we must fight back!" _Next, they launch into some truly fantastic footage of the battle that I didn't get to see because I was in the bunker. It starts off with showing the bombs being dropped, and then cuts to Commander Paylor and her men manning machine guns as they shoot down two of the Capitol hovercraft. Then I'm back on the screen. _"President Snow says he's sending a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" _They show a burning hovercraft, the Capitol seal on the wing of the craft a focal point before it melts into the background as they show me shouting at President Snow. _"Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!"_

My words fill the screen boldly as everything else fades into the background.

IF WE BURN

YOU BURN WITH US

I'm stunned by the propo. I can hardly believe that it was me that I saw on the screen, but I have to give thanks where it's deserved, and I know that half the reason I looked as good as I did was because of Cressida and her team.

"People should know what happened," Finnick says approvingly. "Now they do."

I leave my seat beside Finnick's bed to turn off the TV, but just as my finger is hovering over the _power_ button the Capitol begins to introduce a special program. Caesar Flickerman appears on the stage . . . and I can only guess who his guest is . . .

My heart hammers wildly in my chest and the camera slowly pans out and then I see him. "Peeta!" His name escapes me in a horrified, choked gasp. In his earlier propo just a couple days before, he looked perfectly healthy. Beyond healthy, really. He looked fighting fit.

It's like I'm staring at a completely different person. Peeta has undergone a transformation of the worst kind. He's thin, at least fifteen pounds lighter than the last time I saw him. There's a nervous tremor in his hands that I can tell he's fruitlessly trying to control and it's frustrating him that he's failing. They've kept him groomed, but it doesn't fool me. I see the bags under his eyes that they tried to hide with makeup. I see the pain in his every movement that his clothes can't hide. Peeta is suffering. All for me.

Haymitch suggested that the recent propo we'd seen had been filmed soon after the Games, but to see the evidence before my eyes . . . I never could have thought it would cause me this much pain. I'm hurting with him.

"Oh, Peeta." I don't bother to wipe away the tears that are slowly sliding down my cheeks.

Caesar and Peeta try to make small talk at the beginning, but it's empty on both sides. Caesar quickly cuts to the chase, asking Peeta about rumors that I'm taping propos for the enemy. "They're using her, obviously," he says. _Just like they're using you_, I think. "To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake."

"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?" Caesar asks.

"There is," Peeta nods, looking directly toward the camera, staring right into my eyes. "Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't . . . find out."

There's something that he doesn't say, but that's easily reflected in his eyes. _I love you._

"I love you, too," I whisper.

Black screen. Seal of Panem. Show over.

Mechanically, I hit the button that kills the power. I know that people are about to show up, so that they can do Peeta-damage control. To see how I'm reacting to his words. Honestly, I couldn't care less as to what he actually said. That was just for the Capitol. That doesn't matter to me. It's what he didn't say that matters most to me. He loves me. He's still holding on. For me.

I hear footsteps approaching, and Finnick is suddenly by my side and gripping my arms. "We didn't see it."

"What?"

"We didn't see Peeta. Only the propo on 8. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you, got it?" Finnick explains and I realize what he's doing. Creating a test. Let's see how much we can truly trust those around us.

I nod quickly in agreement and Finnick and I hurry back to our previous positions. I've just sat down in the chair when Plutarch and Fulvia enter the room. Finnick immediately launches into how great everyone came across on camera and how it was so powerful that we tuned out right afterward. Plutarch and Fulvia look relieved, and Plutarch happily points out that while they didn't manage to air the propo in the Capitol, they managed to get it shown in 2, which could actually be more beneficial. They're all smiles.

But they never mention Peeta.

* * *

**For shame. They don't mention Peeta . . .**

**So, lots of stuff happened this chapter! Let's do a recap: Katniss deluded herself into thinking that she was smarter than a 5th grader, Rye obviously likes peaches, Gale is slowly moving to the dark side, Haymitch is feeling uncomfortable in his daddypants, Dr. Riley is a sponsor for Skittles because she can taste the rainbow, Finnick and Maya went on their first date, Plutarch and Fulvia are auditioning for roles on World's Worst Person; therefore, Coin is plotting her counter-ad campiagn, and Peeta trying his best to look like Steve Rogers before he became Captain America. **

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Haymitch!  
**

**"Take that you sober bastards."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	7. All Around Me

**A/N: We're over 400! This is awesome! Alas, you continually prove to be awesome! Like epically, gloriously, spectacularly awesome. I cannot accurately express the awesomeness that all of you seem to possess.  
**

**So thank you, and please continue to review and make me one very happy child.  
**

**This chapter is a lot of fun! Not fun in the actual 'fun' sense, but fun in the 'sadness, bittersweet' sense. Yeah, I know. We get enough sadness in this story already, but, alas, the sadness will continue.  
**

**************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

**************************Peeta: Why can't I physically be in these chapters?  
**

**************************Katniss: Because AC has no soul and is forcing you to stay in the Capitol.  
**

**************************Rye: So not cool, AC.  
**

**************************Me: Okay, okay, I get it! I'm cruel and soulless. I'm like Angelus.  
**

**************************Haymitch: Who the hell is that?  
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**************************Angel: He's my evil alter-ego.  
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**************************Buffy: And you guys think Coin and Snow are bad . . .  
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**************************Coin: That's enough! Who are you people?  
**

**************************Giles: Madame, if you would just allow me to explain . . .  
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**************************Buffy: Oh, wait Giles! Does Mrs. Doom-and-Gloom look just a little vampish to you?  
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**************************Coin: Are you insinuating that I'm a . . .  
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**************************(Buffy stakes Coin through the heart. Coin is now dust)  
**

**************************Katniss: (wakes up from dream) That was weird. But I wonder . . .  
**

* * *

Chapter 7: All Around Me

_I can feel you all around me, thickening the air I'm breathing._

_Holding onto what I'm feeling, savoring this heart that's healing.  
_

_My hands float up above me, and you whisper you love me.  
_

_And I begin to fade, into our secret place.  
_

* * *

I gasp into consciousness, already overcome with the sobs that are wracking my body. I hug the pillow that lies beside my own, burying my face into the cotton, my tears quickly soaking the material. My fist is clenched around my pearl, having taken to the habit of falling asleep with it clutched in my hand.

My body shudders as I continue to sob into the pillow that's supposed to be his. Seeing Peeta's tortured state last night on the interview prompted nightmares of the worst kind. My unconscious mind conjured the most terrifying, heartbreaking images of Peeta being tortured. Watching as he slowly succumbed to his wounds. I pictured him dying twice and then being revived by the medical team that was on standby . . . just so they could bring him to life to be tortured some more. The sounds haunt me, too. I don't know how I'm able to imagine them, but they're horrifically accurate. The sound of a blade cutting into flesh. The sound of an electric current running through a wire connected to a bared, bruised torso. The sound of water being poured onto a cloth-covered face. The sound of snapping bone. Then there were the other sounds, like the clinking of shackles as their prisoner shifted.

Yet none of that was the worst part of the nightmare. The worst part was the sound of President Snow's laughter that never ceased to be in the background.

Needing to find a way for it to seem as though Peeta is tangibly with me, I pull at the collar of his t-shirt I'm wearing to smell his scent. I inhale, but all I smell is me. His scent is gone. This brings on a whole new round of tears. In fact, I'm so consumed by my grief that his favorite shirt (and mine as well) no longer smells like him that it takes me five minutes of sobbing before I realize that I brought more of his shirts with me.

Immediately, I spring from the bed, stumbling a little bit in my haste to get to my game bag. I dump its contents onto the floor and then greedily scoop up a fresh shirt. In a flash, I've torn off the blue shirt I'd been wearing and replace it with a green one. I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs. My tear-filled eyes find the pearl at my feet. I dropped it in my haste to be surrounded by Peeta's scent once more. I pick it up, clutching it in my palm once again.

_It'll be alright. _Peeta's voice whispers to me. _We'll find a way through this. You and me. Together._

"But you're not here," I answer in a hoarse whisper due to my crying.

_I'll always be with you._

I shake my head, as though he can see the action. "I want you here with me."

_Okay, I know I'm irresistible, but you've got to be able to be away from me for more than five minutes._

Despite it all, I feel my lips twitch upward in a smile. A pathetic excuse for a smile, but a smile nonetheless. I know exactly from which memory I'm drawing this particular whisper from. The second morning I woke up with Peeta after making love for the first time. I had to go over to my house for my wedding photo shoot. I hadn't wanted to leave him. But he was being the responsible one, even if he hadn't wanted me to leave either.

_Just because I say you need to leave, doesn't mean that I want you to leave._

"Oh, Peeta," I whisper into the room. "Why?"

_I'll do anything to keep you safe._

"I never asked you to die for me."

_You didn't have to._

Is that what I really think? Do I think that he'll die? No, I can't allow myself to think that way. Peeta is going to live. I remember Dr. Riley's words, taking as much comfort from their truth as I can.

_. . . your man can survive, Katniss. Not just because he's physically strong, but because his will is even stronger . . . never underestimate the will to live, Katniss. He'll keep fighting because he has something to live for . . ._

She's right. I know she is. Peeta made me a promise. He said he'd come back to me. He's never broken a promise to me. He'll keep his word. Peeta never makes a promise he can't keep.

I get to my feet on shaky legs, and I take a deep breath to calm myself. I've got a trip to 12 to make today, and it's going to be a rough one. Emotionally, at least. But, of course, that's what they're hoping for, District 13. They want me to show genuine emotion; because that's the only way they get good footage.

I scowl. District 13. I have not forgotten how Plutarch and Fulvia didn't mention Peeta last night. There was no mention of his interview and obvious deteriorated state. Not even consoling words. They pretended like he didn't exist. Why?

What irks me more than anything is Gale. I'd stayed with Finnick only a few minutes longer, neither of us in any mood to talk after what we'd just seen. However, before I could return to my compartment, I had to take Maya back to the kennels. I'd met Gale in the elevator, and when I asked him if anything had happened lately that I needed to know about, he didn't say anything. He didn't say a word about Peeta. Not a single word. His answer was that nothing important had happened.

Gale lied to me. Right to my face.

Hurt and anger mix dangerously in my blood as I continue to fume at the memory. Gale and I have never kept secrets from each other. That was one thing that I liked about Gale, that I trusted about Gale—he always told me exactly what he thought. Brutal honesty.

So why had he lied to me?

I'm not fragile. I think I've done enough and survived enough to prove that point. Obviously, Gale must realize that seeing Peeta's deteriorated state would hurt me. But he has to know that I'm strong enough to overcome it. Doesn't he know that I'll shove it to the back of my mind and work even harder to get Peeta back? While the visual evidence of his suffering pains me, it also fuels me, provokes an even stronger determination to get him back. Gale knows me well enough to know that.

So why had he lied to me?

A pesky little voice in the back of my mind tells me that it's because I'm not as strong as I'm pretending to be. That I've been putting up a front of strength for others for so long that I've come to believe it myself. This pesky voice tells me that I'm close to breaking.

I ignore this voice. Because I _will_ get Peeta back. _Nothing_ will stop me from getting Peeta back. I have to get him back. I have to . . .

I growl in frustration as despair and desperation begin to cloud my mind and heart. Lock it away. Lock it away. Those feelings do no good. Only harm. I force myself to focus on the task of getting ready. I get dressed in my grey, slightly itchy uniform of District 13, and braid back my hair. If it's possible, I lovingly fold Peeta's shirts that I dumped unceremoniously onto the floor, making sure that the green one, my new sleep-shirt, is resting on the top.

It only takes me another five minutes to finish getting ready, and then I'm heading to the elevator to go to breakfast. Prim meets me in the hallway, and gives me a small smile, but there's something off about it. We're both silent as we step into the elevator and the doors close behind us. Prim presses the button for the dining hall and then steps back slightly, slipping into a proper pose. Back straight. Hands clasped in front of her. Looking ahead.

"You're mad at me," I state knowingly, and Prim shrugs. She doesn't say anything in reply so I continue, feeling my guilt from yesterday's actions seeping into my bones once again. "I'm fine," I defend pathetically. "Nothing happened." _Aside from an air raid that could have cost me my life and my child's . . . _

"They didn't even tell us," Prim says eventually, glancing at me. Her blue eyes filled with hurt and worry. "That you'd left," she elaborates. "I only found out when I saw Rye getting checked over." I lower my head in shame, but Prim continues. "And then you never came by. I didn't see you at all yesterday, Katniss. After everything that happened, I would have thought you'd at least drop by to tell me that you were okay and that you were sorry for doing something so incredibly stupid."

I sigh. The last thing I want is for Prim to be upset with me. More guilt floods me as I realize the truth of her words, though. I never did drop by to tell her that I was okay. How could I have not remembered? I'm a terrible sister.

"I'm sorry, Prim," I apologize softly. "I know that I shouldn't have gone into 8. I rationalized that it was the right thing to do because Coin threatened to take away Peeta's immunity. Still, I shouldn't have gone, and I know how lucky I am to have gotten out of there unscathed. Mostly due to Rye." After all, he was the one who made it so that he was thrown into that wall instead of me. "But after we got back and I got checked over, I just wanted to be alone. Dr. Riley chewed me up and spit me out . . . I didn't want to hear what I already knew from anyone else. I spent the rest of the day with Maya, and then brought her to see Finnick. I thought she would make him feel better."

"Like she made you feel better," Prim says and I nod.

The elevator doors open then, and we both step off into the dining hall. Silently, we go through the line, getting our breakfast of hot grain and milk. I even get a little bit of fruit. Before we walk to our usual table, Prim stops me by gently grabbing my elbow. "I know you're dealing with more than anyone ever should," she says softly. "I know that you're hurting, no matter how hard you try to hide it. I know you miss him terribly. But, Katniss, try not to forget that you're not alone. I may not understand what you're going through, but I'm always willing to listen."

Emotion tightens my throat, but I manage to say, "Thanks, Prim."

Gale isn't at breakfast and I learn from Hazelle that he had an early morning meeting in Command to go over the preparations for our trip to 12. I assume that's where Haymitch is as well. Rye is relatively silent all through breakfast, but I don't blame him. Going back to 12 and walking through the ashes, wondering if some of the black that will cling to his boots belongs to his family . . . I don't envy his position.

It's in the hall, walking to the Remake Room, that I run into Gale. I can't control how my eyes immediately narrow and my lips twist in a scowl. My fists clench at my sides, and by the way Gale takes a deep breath, I know that he knows exactly what has me so pissed. We know each other far too well.

"Katniss—" he begins, and I feel my fury peak, his admission of guilt conveyed in his tone. Hurt quickly follows my anger and I realize that I've been holding out hope that Gale truly didn't know anything about Peeta's recent interview.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I snap angrily. "I asked you last night, Gale. I asked if anything important had happened and you _lied_ to me."

"I'm sorry, Katniss," he apologizes, looking genuine. "I wanted to tell you, but everyone thought that it was best not to. They were worried it would make you sick."

"It did make me sick," I spit. "Of course it made me sick, Gale! But I'm not some weak, love struck girl who—"

"No," Gale interrupts, cutting me off. "You're not weak, but Katniss I know you better than to think that you're as strong as you think you are. You can fool Command. You can fool your mother, even Prim. Even Rye. But you can't fool me. You're this close to breaking, Katniss," he says harshly, though there's pain in his eyes. He holds up two fingers, barely any space between them. "This close," he repeats. "You can try to convince yourself otherwise and so far you've been doing a good job, but don't think for one second you can fool me. I can see it in your eyes, Katniss. Half of you isn't there, and I know it's because of him," he admits. "I'm not even going to pretend that I understand what you have with Peeta because I don't got a clue. But I do know that you can only live with half of yourself for so long."

_Before you break, _goes unsaid.

"I was just trying to protect you," Gale says softly.

"Lying to me doesn't protect me," I shake my head. "It betrays me." Gale opens his mouth to say more, but I silence him with a raised hand. "I know you meant well, Gale. And I forgive you . . . but don't lie to me again."

I turn away from him before he can reply.

My stay in the Remake Room is brief. I jump into the shower, quickly scrubbing myself clean, and then within five minutes I'm wrapped in a robe while Flavius does my hair and Venia and Octavia work to make up my face. They only use the barest hints of makeup, just enough to hide the shadows under my eyes. The evidence of my frightful night.

They put me in Cinna's last creation for me, my Mockingjay costume, and then as soon as I'm able I'm thrust into the elevator with Plutarch and Fulvia. They talk about the propos and how big of a success they are. Our forces, who were only managing to maintain a foothold in the districts have rallied. They've actually taken 3 and 11, the latter being extremely fortuitous since they are the Capitol's main food supplier.

"Hopeful. Very hopeful indeed," Plutarch says in satisfaction as we enter the hovercraft. "Fulvia's going to have the first round of _We Remember_ spots ready tonight, so we can target the individual districts with their dead. Finnick's absolutely marvelous."

Catching the end of our conversation, Cressida adds, "It's painful to watch, actually," she says with a small frown. "He knew so many of them personally."

"That's what makes it so effective," Plutarch says, sounding completely unsympathetic. It irks me. "Straight from the heart. You're all doing beautifully. Coin could not be more pleased."

Yes. Because her praise just means everything to me.

For the rest of the short ride to District 12, I take a seat by Haymitch, who looks like he's going to be sick. Honestly, he looks so pained that if I could, I would actually give him a bottle of liquor to help. Even though I detest the vile smell and the way it inhibits even the best minds, I would still give it. I've never been able to stand seeing others in pain, particularly those that I care about.

All too soon, the hovercraft is landing in the Meadow. We stand there together in a line. Me, Gale, Haymitch, and Rye. I don't know if it is because of their presence, but I'm filled with renewed grief as I gaze out at the devastation that is my home. Gale and Rye both look pained, undoubtedly remembering their perilous run through the burning streets, watching as people were killed left and right, knowing they could do nothing to save them.

But it's Haymitch's face that nearly breaks my heart. So much pain. It's like the years of being a mentor and watching his tributes die every year, coupled with the loss of his home that holds so many memories, is what causes him to finally crack. A sight that I never expected to see captures my gaze. A sight so alien that I don't know quite how to process it.

A tear, quickly followed by another, and then another, fall from Haymitch's eyes. My mentor is crying. They are silent tears, no sobs escaping him. I think he's in too much pain to sob. There comes a point where it's just too much trouble to work up the energy.

I do the only thing I know to do. I take his hand and hold on tight.

We walk to my house first. I ask Cressida what she wants me to do. "Whatever you feel like," she replies. Reluctantly, I let go of Haymitch's hand. I know that the cameras have probably captured his rare show of emotion, and it angers me that they've stolen his privacy away from him, but there's nothing I can do. I know that Haymitch probably knew exactly what would happen if he came here. And yet he still came, and I know he did it for me.

I step into the remnants of my home, standing where the kitchen table used to be. There's not much left of my house, just parts of the roof, and I find myself staring up at the sky. Maybe I'm just trying to ignore the ashes at my feet, the burned memories of my father's house. But eventually, Cressida says, "That's fine, Katniss. Let's move on."

Gale is next. His home is in no better shape than mine, and Cressida and her team film him as he pokes through the ashes of his home. When he finds a twisted fire poker, Cressida asks him to take her through what happened the night of the bombing. Mechanically, Gale reenacts that fateful night, starting at his house and working his way down to the Meadow. When we cross into the woods, I feel as though they're being violated by the cameras. These woods were my secret sanctuary. So many fond memories of my father and Gale, and then later, Peeta. Now they've been tainted by the Capitol's evil. We have to step over decomposing bodies. Do we really have to record it for everyone to see?

Gale has lost his ability to speak by the time we reach the lake. My father's lake. My sanctuary within my sanctuary. I hate that the Capitol has managed to taint this place as well. Everyone is dripping with sweat from the hike, particularly Castor and Pollux in the insect-shells, and so Cressida calls for a lunch break.

Sandwiches are passed around and I take my lunch away from everyone else. Haymitch is sitting farthest away from everyone, and though I'm tempted to sit with him, just be there, I don't think he wants anyone near him right now. So I sit down on my little peninsula that juts out into the water. A shadow passes over me, and I turn to my right and see Rye sitting beside me. He hasn't said a word all day, so I'm surprised when the first words out of his mouth are, "You know, I always asked Peeta where you two had your first date."

"What?"

Rye continues on explaining, as though I hadn't said anything. "I pestered him about it all day the next day, but he wouldn't crack. He just had this stupid, dopey grin on his face." Rye looks out at the lake scene before us, still as beautiful as it was the first time I brought Peeta out here. "I knew you two had gone out into the woods. Didn't take a genius to make that leap. But all Peeta said was that it was beautiful." Rye smiles a little at me. "This is where you two had your first _official_ date."

I look out over the lake. "Yeah," I say. No point in denying it. I surprise myself by laughing a little as the memories come back to me. "I shoved him in out of nowhere," I tell him with a small smile. "Didn't warn him at all. Just shoved him into the water. He was flailing around like he was drowning, even though the water barely came up to his waist."

"So that's how he learned to swim," Rye concludes with an equally small smile on his own lips. "Always wondered how. When we watched the Quell."

I nod, and we fall into silence once more. Eventually, the sun becomes too hot for me to stand, and I move back into the shade of the trees. I take a seat by Pollux, because I really don't want to talk. Rye is different, of course. Rye understands.

Pollux and I sit together for a few minutes before he spots a bird. He points to it and I follow his gaze. It's a mockingjay. There are always mockingjays around the lake, so I'm not surprised to see one. However, I am surprised when Pollux whistles a little tune. The bird pauses and then whistles back to him. A bright smile threatens to split Pollux's face in two, and he spends the next few minutes exchanging whistles with the birds. I figure it's as close to a conversation he's had in a very long time.

Suddenly, Pollux stops whistling and grabs a stick off the ground near him. Next he scratches in the dirt, SING?

I pause. Sing? He wants me to sing? What do I sing? I don't even feel like singing. But Pollux's obvious delight in the mockingjays causes me to softly sing Rue's four note tune. The birds immediately pick it up and begin to sing it softly back to me. Once again, I hear the harmonic brilliance of Rue's tune, how the notes overlap to create a beautiful harmony. Just like it sounded in the Games. Before the harmony became broken because of the mutts and Cato's arrival. Before we fled to the Cornucopia. Before Peeta fell over the edge. Before the mutts gnawed Cato to death . . .

"Want to hear a real song?" I blurt before I can really think of what I've just said. I just want the images in my head to go away. "I sang it for Peeta when I first brought him here."

I don't know why I add that little fact, but it's the truth. The first time he asked me, I refused. He tried everything to coerce me into singing. A particular trail of kisses along my collarbone comes to mind immediately, but I still refused to break. So, Peeta, being the prideful boy he is, resorted to begging. I caved.

I haven't sung "The Hanging Tree" since. And before singing it for Peeta that day, I hadn't sung it in ten years. It was a forbidden song to sing in my household, but I still remember every word. I get to my feet, wondering under the tree where the birds rest, placing a hand on the trunk. Then, I begin to sing softly, sweetly, like I had for Peeta.

"_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three._

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

The mockingjays begin to listen to my new song, their voices changing to match me.

"_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where the dead man called out for his love to flee._

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

I've captured the birds' attention now. Within the next verse they should capture the melody completely. It repeats with every verse, with little to no variation.

"_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free._

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

It's utterly silent except for me and the mockingjays. No other birds sing. Peeta is right. The birds respectfully fall silent when I sing. Just like they did for my father.

"_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me._

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

Silence. The birds wait for me to continue, but I don't. That's the last verse. I remember my father teaching me the song during one of our many days in the woods. Back then, I was at an age where I could memorize anything set to music after a couple times through. We'd come back to the house and began to make necklaces out of some old strands of rope, like the song mentioned. Suddenly, the necklace was snatched from my hands by my mother and in the next second she was yelling at my father. It scared me, because mother never yelled, and the raised voice caused Prim to start crying. I ran away to my favorite hiding spot in the Meadow, under a honeysuckle bush. Naturally, my father found me not five minutes later, and said that we could not sing that song anymore. And of course, when he told me that, the words were branded into my brain.

We never even spoke of the song again, my father and I. It wasn't until after he died that the words started to come back to me, and then since I was older, the lyrics began to make more sense to me. In the beginning, it sounds as though a guy is trying to get his girlfriend to meet up with him at midnight. Except meeting at a tree were a man was hanged for killing three people isn't the ideal meeting place for a tryst. It's the third verse when you realize that it's actually the dead murderer who is singing and calling out to his lover. And though in the beginning he's told her to flee, presumably to safety, he still keeps asking her to come to him. The line, _Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free, _is the most troubling. Because you begin to wonder if he actually meant for her to run to him. To death. And it's in the final stanza that you realize, yes, that's what he's waiting for. His lover, wearing a rope necklace, hanging dead beside him in the tree.

So that they would both be free.

Peeta, of course, had praised my singing, and then told me that there was no way he was ever going to ask me to kill myself to be with him. In fact, he said, "I don't mind waiting for you." And then, to lighten the mood, he added, "And that whole 'talking corpse' bit was just a little creepy."

I'm drawn from the memory when I hear Cressida call, "Cut!"

Startled, I turn to face everyone and see that they're all staring at me intently. Rye actually has a smile on his face, though it's sad. Haymitch is just staring at me, his eyes haunted with pain. Gale is expressionless, still too overwhelmed by the memories of escaping the bombing, I think. Pollux actually has tears in his eyes, and I hope that my song hasn't dredged up some terrible memory for him. Castor was the one filming me, I note. But what irks me most is the bright smile on Plutarch's face.

"Where do you come up with this stuff?" he asks lightly as he strides over to me. "No one would believe it if we made it up!" He throws his arm around me and gives me a smacking kiss on the top of my head. I fight not to cringe. "You're golden!"

"I wasn't doing it for the cameras," I say, my voice sounding strained, but Plutarch doesn't here it.

"Lucky they were on, then," he says. "Come on, everybody! Back into town!"

On our way back through the woods, we pass the boulder where Gale and I used to meet. As though we're dogs catching wind of a scent, both our heads automatically turn toward the monument. Cressida notices and asks if it's anything special.

"It was where we used to meet," I explain. "When we would go hunting."

Cressida immediately wants to see it, even though we tell her that there's nothing much to see. Only a place where I was happy. Gale and I sit on the rock that overlooks the valley below. Slightly less green than normal, but no less beautiful. The blackberry bushes that surround us are heavy with fruit, and without a thought I pick some and pop them into my mouth.

Then, on a whim, I roll a blackberry between my fingers before tossing it up in Gale's direction, saying, "And may the odds—" His eyes stay trained on my face until the last moment, opening his mouth and catching the berry. "Be ever in your favor," he finishes.

And I know that with this simple gesture, all is good between us again. I'm still upset that he lied, and he's probably still upset that I'm delusional in my notions of strength, but in this second we've both resolved to put it behind us.

Despite our protestations, Cressida has us tell some stories about our days hunting in the woods. It doesn't take too long before Gale and I thaw out and we're laughing as we relate some of our misadventures with skunks, bees, and wild dogs. We talk more about our favorite moments, until Cressida says that it's enough and we move on.

When we get into town, Cressida tries to persuade Haymitch to say something, to tell a story, anything really. Haymitch only says, "This was my home. Now it's gone."

Then he turns away from her and starts walking toward town. We all follow him, and I'm not surprised when our next stop is the bakery. Rye can only stare. It's still strange for me; to see someone who I only previously acquainted with smiles and jokes and laughter look so solemn. I follow slightly behind him as we walk through the wreckage. He kicks lightly at the lump of metal that used to be the oven. Suddenly, he turns to me. "Remember those slow days?" he asks, his lips turning up at the corners. "When no one came in and you'd sit on the counter while we horsed around?"

I manage a small smile. "I remember."

Cressida asks Rye to describe those days. The slow days in the bakery where it was just me and the Mellark brothers. They're some of the fondest memories I have. Peeta's enthusiasm and overall good nature he shared with his brothers. Although Chris was the quiet one, at times he was no less exuberant than his younger brothers. Rye would always be the initiator, his target always Peeta. Chris would try to be a mediator, but he would ultimately fail and join in their rambunctiousness, thus leaving me to make sure none of them hurt themselves too badly. They were days full of laughter and no worries.

But at the end of Rye's story, he grows solemn once more. "But that's all gone, now," he says before looking directly at the camera. "It's all gone, Peeta. You're all I got left, baby brother. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" Rye looks pointedly at the destruction all around us. "There's no one left to hear you."

We move on to what is left of town square, gathering around the lump of metal that was the gallows. Cressida asks if any of us has ever been tortured, which immediately causes me and Rye to flinch because we're both thinking of Peeta who is _being_ tortured, probably this very minute. But Gale doesn't share in our reaction. Instead, in answer to Cressida's question, he takes off his shirt and turns his back to the camera, the scars of the lash marks clearly visible. I can still hear the whistle of the whip clearly. Still remember how he looked dead, slumped unconscious against the whipping post.

"I'm done," I announce evenly. They must have enough footage, and if they don't then that's just too damn bad. "I'll meet you in the Victor's Village."

Rye and Gale stay behind with Cressida, but I don't see Haymitch. I don't really let this bother me though, because I know Haymitch can take care of himself. However, it's as I'm walking along the road to the Village that I see the footprints of someone who has been here before me.

As I suspected, the footprints lead to Haymitch's house. I already know what he's looking to find.

I continue walking to our house, mine and Peeta's. I don't hesitate to enter like last time. This time, I'm ready to soak up the familiarity, the memories. Everywhere I look I see Peeta. The paintings that hang on the walls. His favorite easy chair that reclined. He loved that chair because it allowed him to really stretch out his tall frame. Too many days I would walk in from hunting and find him asleep in that chair.

A smile pulls at my lips without my permission at the vision of him in my head. Stretched out, looking positively cozy. His head tilted to the side, mouth open slightly. And, despite his vehement denials, a slight snore escaping him.

When I walk into the kitchen, I look at all the pots and pans and can see Peeta using every one of them. I can almost smell baking bread, cheese buns to be exact. One morning that was how he woke me up, disturbing one of the few mornings where I slept in until midmorning. He'd held the fresh bread under my nose, cooing my name teasingly.

I maneuver up the stairs, skipping the squeaky third stair out of habit. I walk right past it, the second door on the left, but I stop halfway to the bedroom and walk back a couple of steps. I stare at the door to his art studio, as if I could possibly see through the door to see what creations lie within. My hand twitches as I fight the urge to grasp the doorknob and twist it open.

Should I? Peeta was terribly private about all his paintings, but he _did_ show me his worst. His depictions of the Hunger Games. That was why I couldn't go inside in the first place. And he did show me those. So, technically, he has given me the green light. Technically, I could open this door and he wouldn't be upset with me. I pause. Why am I worrying about this so much? Peeta wouldn't mind letting me into his art studio. Why? Because Peeta would never deny me something that would make me happy.

And while I doubt entering his art studio will make me happy, I know that it will make me feel closer to him, which is as happy as I can get these days. I feel my stomach flutter, signaling my child's movement. Suddenly, I want to go inside the studio not for me, but for the baby. I want him to be close to his father.

So I open the door.

The room is large and spacious. Well, it would be if it weren't for the canvases that threaten to take over the space. It doesn't take me long to see how he has them organized. It's a timeline. Peeta paints memories more than anything, and so I follow the memories. I find myself talking aloud, explaining to the baby each memory that each painting depicts. Mine and Peeta's day at the lake. A lazy day we spent on the sofa, reading and sketching. A disaster of a day in the kitchen when I tried to reign. A walk in the woods. So many memories. I'm involved in nearly every one of them, but there are a few where I'm absent. A day in the bakery. There's a portrait of each of his brothers. Chris looks exasperated, but there's a loving, indulgent look in his eye. Rye simply looks mischievous, plain and simple. There's even one of Portia, his stylist. I describe the people involved in these paintings, adding how Peeta felt about them and my own two cents here and there.

However, when I come upon a particular canvas, I surprise myself by blushing. It's the first time I've blushed since I was separated from Peeta. The canvas is sketched, using charcoal. No paint. And it's of me.

And I'm naked.

I'm thrown into a memory. A day in the cafeteria during training for the Quell. Peeta commenting on how I was upset about Johanna offering to pose nude for him, and my snappy reply, _If anyone is posing nude for you, it's me._

He was surprised, asking me if I really would. Of course, I began to splutter in embarrassment, but Peeta reassured me.

_Relax Katniss. I can draw you from memory. Wouldn't forget a single detail, I promise._

Well, he's right. He even got all my freckles and the small birthmark on my right hip. I don't know whether to be amused, embarrassed, or exasperated. So I feel all three in equal turns.

It's safe to say that I don't describe this canvas to the baby.

I leave Peeta's art studio with a small smile on my lips. However, when I walk into the bedroom, my smile falls. There, on the bed, crinkled and dried, but no less potent, is the rose. Anger that the cursed flower is still spoiling such a sacred place courses through me, and I rip the rose from the bed, uncaring of the thorns that stick my hand. I toss open the window and throw it out, watching has the flaky remains flutter to the ground.

I immediately go into the bathroom and wash my hands thoroughly. When I return to the bedroom, I feel slightly better, but the barest hint of happiness I'd been able to attain by visiting Peeta's art studio has vanished. Solemnity takes its place, and I find myself taking a sketchbook and a set of charcoals from his nightstand. For him to have when I get him back. I even take the extra sketchbook that's completely blank, just waiting for its pages to be filled. I also take some colored pencils, in case he gets tired of having to wash his hands repeatedly to get all the charcoal off.

There's nothing more that I can take, since I don't have a game bag to stuff everything in like last time. So I content myself with the two sketchbooks, the charcoals set, and the colored pencils. Cressida and everyone else must still be in town because they're not in the Village, so I go over to Haymitch's house, where I'm sure I'll find him.

He's exactly where I expected. Sitting at his kitchen table, a bottle of spirits clutched in his hand. I sit down in the chair next to him, and he says, "I'd ask if you want a drink, but it's not a bright idea in your situation."

No, drinking alcohol while pregnant is not a good idea.

"It's the thought that counts," I tell him. "And if I weren't pregnant, I'd probably take you up on that."

Haymitch notices the things I've placed on the table in front of me, just a meager sample of Peeta's art supplies. "Think he'll be interested in drawing when he gets back?"

I blanch. I don't like thinking of how Peeta will be when he gets back. Because I _will_ get him back. That's what I've been focusing on. Getting him back. Not the condition he's in when he gets back. I know that a part of him will be broken, his body if anything. But it's simply too painful to think about.

So I don't.

"He draws when he's stressed," I reply evenly, and Haymitch knows this particular conversation is closed.

We're silent for another few minutes, Haymitch drinking while I stare sightlessly in front of me. Eventually, I decide that we've spent enough time here. So I turn to Haymitch. "Let's go back," I say, and Haymitch nods.

He gets up from the table, takes a big shot of liquor, and then takes out his flask. I don't know why 13 let him keep it. I would have expected them to take it to use it for . . . something. That, or Haymitch hid it well enough that he slipped it in right under 13's noses. I like the latter thought much better. Just to spite Coin.

Haymitch fills the flask with liquor, a smug light in his eye. "Take that you sober bastards," he mumbles under his breath, and despite it all, I find myself fighting not to smile.

* * *

**And there is my favorite Haymitch line ever! He has a lot of good lines . . . but there's just something about that one. ;)**

**So, we're getting closer to chapter 11, people! Only 3 more chapters to go and then we'll be with Peeta once more!  
**

**But until then, this is what has happened thus far: Katniss proves that she is an elf of Mirkwood because not only is she great with a bow, but she sings in the trees!, regrettably, all efforts for me to be introduced to Legolas have been thwarted; Gale is still in talks about getting Katniss and Peeta to go on Jerry Springer with him; Rye is playing kick-the-can with what is left of the bakery oven; Plutarch has no soul; Fulvia is secretly jealous of Katniss and her awesomeness; and Haymitch can be drunk once more!  
**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Mrs. Everdeen!  
**

**"How could you have been so irresponsible?"  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	8. My Love

**A/N: Another chapter is here! This chapter is dear to me for one reason in particular. Plutarch totally gets what's coming to him and oh, was it so satisfying to write. Trust me, you'll know this scene when you read it.  
**

**As always, I cannot thank you enough for reading and reviewing and alerting and favoriting and just being all around awesome. So thanks, yet again, for being awesome.  
**

**Now, onto the chapter!  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************Me: (giggles in excitement) Katniss, you will actually like this chapter.  
**

******************************Katniss: Really? The way things have been going . . . I seriously doubt that.  
**

******************************Me: True. You are sad . . . but you have a great moment of awesomeness that you will approve of.  
**

******************************Katniss: Okay. That's cool.  
**

******************************Me: I know it is.  
**

******************************Rye: I know what happens! I know what happens!  
**

******************************Me: Don't spoil it!  
**

******************************Rye: But I want to!  
**

******************************Me: No spoiling!  
**

******************************Peeta: (from his cell in the Capitol) Can someone get me out of here already?  
**

******************************Me: Peeta, darling . . . never rush me.  
**

******************************Peeta: But . . .  
**

******************************Me: No rushing!  
**

* * *

Chapter 8: My Love

_My love, leave yourself behind_

_Beat inside me, leave you blind  
_

_My love, you have found peace  
_

_You were searching for release  
_

_You gave it all into the call  
_

_You took a chance and you took the fall for us  
_

* * *

When we arrive back in 13, we all go our separate ways. Haymitch, who has a secretive glint in his eye due to the alcohol-filled flask in his pocket, goes immediately to his compartment. I hope he doesn't drink his entire flask in one go. He'll be terribly disappointed when it's empty.

Gale is headed down to Special Defense. He's been spending a lot of time down there lately with Beetee, working on something I assume. Rye is going to a class, probably the same one that my arm says I'm supposed to go to, but it's not as though I've ever followed the schedule on my arm. Why start now? So while Plutarch and the rest of the film crew go to Command and the editing room, respectively, I go to Compartment 303. I won't make the same mistake of not telling Prim that I've arrived back safe and sound. I made sure to tell her where I'd be going today and when I'd be back during breakfast.

When I enter the compartment, I'm surprised to find that Prim is absent. I'm even more surprised that my mother is not in her nurse's garb and working in the hospital, like I assume Prim is. Maybe she got a long shift today and my mother didn't.

My mother's eyes look up to meet mine from her seat at the small desk they've been provided. The plant book is open in front of her, and I immediately recognize one of Peeta's pictures. "He has talented hands," she says quietly.

"Yes, he does," I reply, remembering all the paintings that I'd seen today. Each of them beautiful and precise and full of feeling. I could see the emotion in each brushstroke, even the loving caress as he'd sketched my nude form with charcoal.

We fall into a bout of silence, but I get the feeling that it won't last long. Like a calm before the storm. A conversation that we've needed to have and yet have avoided until now. The simple, ever growing fact (quite literally) that I am pregnant.

"Why don't you just say it?" I prompt after a few minutes. "Let's just get it out there."

My mother hesitates for a moment before squaring her shoulders and pinning me with a stare full of her disapproval. It's the closest she's come to looking stern since my father died. "How could you be so irresponsible?" she asks. "How could you let this happen?"

"We weren't being irresponsible," I tell her through gritted teeth. Did she seriously think that Peeta and I would have unprotected sex? "We were safe every time, mom." Trust me. I'd gone over every single encounter we'd had. Peeta, too. We could never come up with a time where we hadn't used a condom.

"Obviously not," my mother snaps, her hands on her hips. "But that's not even the main point. All of this could have been avoided if you'd just . . . controlled your hormones," she says, putting it delicately.

But it makes my ire rise. "You think it was the fact that I couldn't control my hormones?" I repeat incredulously before admitting, "Mom, I've been controlling my hormones around Peeta ever since I saw him without a shirt! It wasn't as though we got carried away. We made a mutual decision that we'd been thinking about for months." By the look on my mother's face, this news isn't helping my argument.

"You're not married," she says and I resist the urge to slam my head against the wall. Repeatedly. I am tired of people saying that.

"Yes, we are," I nearly growl. "I don't care if we don't have a damn _piece of paper_ declaring that it's official. We had a toasting. That's official enough. It's official in my mind. It's official in Peeta's mind. And frankly, I couldn't care less if you disagree."

"What do you think your father would say?" she asks, pulling me up short. "Don't you think he'd be disappointed?"

"Yes," I admit truthfully. "He would've been. But I also know that he would have seen that what Peeta and I have is real, and not some teenage romance. You can't merely have a teenage romance after what we've been through. It's either real or it isn't. Dad would have seen that and yeah, he would have rather we waited, but I don't for a second thing he'd practically ignore me because he was embarrassed that his daughter had sex before she was 'married.'" I snap angrily.

"You think I'm embarrassed?" my mother asks surprised. "I'm not embarrassed, Katniss. I'm disappointed and angry you made such a poor decision."

"Poor decision?" I repeat. "Is it wrong, mom? To love someone with my entire being? Is it wrong to want to share all of myself with him? Is it? Is it wrong to want to express my love? Yes, I could give him a hug. I could tell him that I love him. I could kiss him for hours. But at the end of the day, when I'm lying in his arms, sometimes that's just not enough. It wasn't just sex, mom. It was making love." My mother tries to say something, but I cut her off. "And yes, that love resulted in this baby, _your_ grandchild. I know you would have rather we waited. Well, guess what, Peeta and I weren't exactly jumping up and down for joy when we found out, either. But I'm not about to stand here and have you lecture me on how irresponsible I was. I am anything but irresponsible, and you know it."

My mother's next words take all the fire out of my veins. "What if Peeta doesn't survive?"

"He will," I say evenly. Peeta dying is simply not an option. "He'll live for me."

"Katniss, this isn't a fairytale—"

"You think I don't know that?" I ask. "Do you think I'm naïve about what they're doing to him? Mom, have had so many nightmares about the different possibilities that it makes me sick. But I know that he'll hold on. Peeta's strong. And he'll live for me. Because he's got something to live for."

"But, Katniss, you have to acknowledge the fact he might not survive. All the strength in the world can't save him," she says. "Not if the Capitol decides he's of no use to them. He's a seventeen year old boy, Katniss."

"Yes," I agree. "He's a seventeen year old boy who has been through more than you and hardly anyone in Panem can imagine."

"That may be so, but the physical toll—"

"I don't care about the physical toll!" I snap, tired of hearing her continue to say that Peeta will die. "Sometimes you just have to believe." I can hardly believe that the words are coming out of my mouth, considering that I've never been good at simply _believing_. "Sometimes, you have to have a little faith. I believe in Peeta. I have faith in him. You should, too."

I decide that this conversation is over, and head toward the door. But as a last thought, I turn back to her as I swing open the door. "Never underestimate the will to live," I tell her, repeating Dr. Riley's wise words. I know their truth. I've experienced that infinite will firsthand. It's what drives your legs just a little faster. Makes you shoot straighter. Makes you jump higher, swim faster.

And it's how Peeta will survive his torture. Simply because he doesn't want to die. Because he has something to live for. Because he knows that the baby and I are waiting for him. He'll live for us, I know he will.

I shut the door behind me, feeling drained. My eyes feel heavy as I walk a little further down the hall before slipping into my own compartment. I place Peeta's sketchbooks and things in my game bag with the rest of his possessions that I've grabbed. Then, I take the pearl out of the parachute in my nightstand, clutch it in my hand, and then slip into unconsciousness.

I'm awoken hours later to the sound of someone knocking on my door. Absently, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, placing the pearl in my pocket for the time being. I'm surprised when I find that Boggs is the one who disturbed my slumber.

"What?" I ask groggily, taking a moment to rub the sleep out of my eyes. "What is it?"

"You're needed in Command," Boggs says obviously. "Didn't you check your schedule?"

"No."

"Do you even follow it at all?" he asks, sounding exasperated, but if I'm not mistaken, with just a bit of bemusement.

"Not usually, no."

"Well, you're late for a meeting," he states as he begins to guide me down the hall, placing a hand at the small of my back. It doesn't feel demeaning. It actually has a rather fatherly connotation to it, which makes a sort of sense, since Boggs is a father.

"What's it for?" I ask dully, not really thrilled that my sleep was interrupted. I get cranky fairly easily these days.

"I think Cressida wanted to show you the propos they've pieced together from your trip to 12," he says and I scoff.

"That's what I need a schedule of," I grumble under my breath. "When propos air."

Boggs shoots me a look, but I merely shrug. I really don't care.

When we enter Command, everyone, quite obviously, is waiting for me. They've been kind enough to save me a seat between Rye and Finnick. The screens are already set up on the table. I take my seat with a little huff, and Rye raises his eyebrows. "Whoops. Looks like they interrupted the pregnant lady's nappy time. She's all grumpy now." His eyes aren't quite as bright as normal, still heavy with the sadness this morning's trip brought, but at least he's trying to pick himself up.

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter before looking at him and Finnick. "What's going on?" I've just noticed that the screens in front of us are tuned into the Capitol feed. "I thought we were watching the propos from 12."

"Oh, no," Rye says before backtracking. "I mean, possibly."

I look to Finnick for a better explanation. "It all depends on what footage Beetee chooses to use," he says with a shrug. "Beetee thinks he's found a way to break into the feed nationwide. So that our propos will air in the Capitol, too. He's down working on it in Special Defense now. There's live programming tonight. Snow's making an appearance or something." Suddenly, he pauses, looking at the screens. "I think it's starting."

The Capitol seal fills the screen, underscored by the anthem. And then I'm staring into the cold, venomous, snake-like eyes of President Snow. He greets the nation, looking as though he's barricaded behind his podium. I can't help but like my comparison. It implies that he feels threatened. Implies that he feels the need to protect himself. Good.

But when the camera pulls back to include Peeta, all my small feelings of satisfaction plummet into nonexistence. He's worse. I cling to both Finnick's and Rye's hands, trying to let them anchor me. I feel a sob begin to build in my throat, but I manage to swallow it. Be strong, Katniss.

But I'm breaking at this vision of Peeta before me. He sits in a metal chair in front of a map of Panem. His feet are supported by the lower rung, and one foot is tapping an irregular beat on the floor. Peeta starts talking about the state of the districts in a frustrated voice, as though the words aren't coming to him as quickly as he would like. His speech is certainly not as smooth as usual. Have they given him something? Some kind of drug? Maybe a sedative?

I ignore what he's saying, how he's talking of a broken dam in District 7. A derailed train spilling toxic waste in 5. A granary collapsing in 8. He contributes all of this to rebel action, the respective district lighting up behind him on the map. But I barely hear any of this.

My eyes are scouring his form. A light sheen of sweat is visible. His breathing seems too shallow, too quick. He's appears even thinner than before. Another five pounds lost. What would that make him, now? 170? 165? Far too skinny for his six foot frame.

It's his eyes that threaten to break me. Though the emotion in them is dulled somewhat because of whatever drugs I'm sure they've given him, I can still read everything clearly. Pain. That's what I see. Pain in every word spoken. Every movement made. Haunting pain. Knowing what has happened and what will happen.

And then, suddenly, he's vanished. In his place, Rye and I are standing in the rubble of the bakery. Plutarch, in the back of the room, jumps to his feet and exclaims, "He did it! Beetee broke in!"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Rye mutters under his breath, though his voice is strained. Neither I nor Rye are focused on Beetee's achievement. We want to see Peeta, even if he's obviously suffering. At least we know he's alive.

Peeta is back on screen again, looking distracted. He's seen me and Rye on the monitor. I might be mistaken, but I think I see a minute quirk of his lips. A hidden smile. But he quickly stifles it and tries to get back on track, talking about the destruction of a water purification plant. Beetee cuts him off midsentence, as Finnick's voice narrates over a clip talking about Rue.

And then it's like a battle of the broadcasters. Beetee versus the Capitol. The images flick back and forth as each tries to thwart the other. But it's obvious that Beetee was prepared for this, because he has five to ten second clips that he's able to squeeze in before the Captiol tech whizzes take control again. The Capitol broadcast is broken as select portions of our propos deteriorate the Capitol's official presentation.

Everyone is cheering Beetee on, as though this is a game. Personally, I've played games. Rye, Finnick, and I don't cheer. We stay silent and motionless. I meet Haymitch's stare across the room. He's silent, too, his eyes filled with the dread that I'm sure is mirrored in my gaze. We both realize that with every cheer, Peeta slips even farther from our grasp.

The Capitol seal suddenly fills the screen, again, underscored by a flat audio tone. This lasts about twenty agonizing seconds before Snow and Peeta return. The Capitol set is in turmoil. We hear people shouting back and forth as they try to get things in order, but it's obvious that they're frantic and panicking. President Snow is undeterred, however, and plows on through with his statement, launching into a spiel of how the rebels are clearly trying to disrupt the dissemination of information that they find incriminating. Justice and truth will reign, in his opinion. The full broadcast will air again when they have everything sorted. And then he asks Peeta if he has any parting thoughts for me.

At the mention of my name, Peeta's face contorts as he fights the look of longing he instinctively began to show. However, it's easily reflected in his eyes. His longing and desperate love that momentarily overcomes his pain. But there's something else. Fear . . . but determination.

"Katniss." My eyes want to close at the sound of my name escaping his lips, but I force them open. I can't take my eyes off him. "How do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts . . ." he trails off and then I see a decision made in his eyes, and they've never looked clearer than in this moment. It's almost as though he thinks this is his last hurrah, and the thought scares me. He thinks his time is coming to an end. But his next words scare me more. "And not you in 13!" he says quickly. "They're coming! Dead by morning!"

Off camera, Snow orders, "End it!" Beetee throws the screen into chaos, flashing a still of me standing in front of the hospital in 8. But between the three-second flashes, I'm able to see the horror unfolding in the Capitol production room. Peeta is still speaking, shouting warnings at me. The camera is knocked down to the floor, recording the white tiled floor, and I'm upset that I can no longer see Peeta.

There's a scuffle of boots and then the sound of an impact of a blow that can only be entwined with Peeta's cry of pain . . . and then his blood splatters across the white tiles . . .

For a split second, everyone is silent.

And then it's a roar as everyone starts speaking at once. I want to scream. I want to scream at the horror I just witnessed, but it dies in my throat. I would feel better if I could scream, I think. Peeta knew exactly what he was doing when he gave me that warning. They will probably kill him for this.

And he knows it. But he did it anyway.

_I'll do anything to keep you safe._

I'm drawn out of myself when I hear Haymitch's voice shout over the rest. "Shut up!" Everyone's eyes fall on him, including mine. "It's not some big mystery! The boy is telling us we're about to be attacked. Here. In 13."

His words are met with a multitude of accusations.

"How would he have that information?"

"Why should we trust him?"

"How do you know?"

Haymitch's jaw sets dangerously, his eyes looking almost feral. "They're beating him bloody while we speak! What more do you need?" He looks to me, demanding. "Katniss, help me out here!"

_Get a grip, Katniss_. I tell myself.

"Haymitch is right," I say quickly, putting all the conviction I can into my voice. "I don't know where Peeta got the information or if it's true. But he believes it is. And if he believes it, then I believe it. And they're—" I can't continue, choking on my words as I think of what Snow is doing to Peeta.

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I refuse to cry in front of these people, especially Coin. So, miraculously, I manage to dam my flood of tears. For now.

"You don't know him," Haymitch says evenly, speaking directly to Coin. "We do. Get your people ready."

Coin doesn't seem alarmed by this news. Only perplexed and mildly surprised. She idly taps her finger against the table in front of her, thinking. The projection of ease and nonchalance irks me greatly, more than it should, but my emotions are on a high right now and I'm stretched tighter than I'm meant to be. I'm just waiting to snap. And that damn tapping is about to do it.

Right when I'm about to scream, Coin speaks, addressing Haymitch. "Of course, we have prepared for such a scenario. Although we have decades of support for the assumption that further direct attacks on 13 would be counterproductive to the Capitol's cause. Nuclear missiles would release radiation into the atmosphere, with incalculable environmental results. Even routine bombing could badly damage our military compound, which we know they hope to regain. And, of course, they invite a counterstrike. It is conceivable that, given our current alliance with the rebels, those would be viewed as acceptable risks."

"You think so?" Haymitch asks, his voice filled with so much vicious sarcasm that I'm surprised Coin isn't physically wounded.

"I do," Coin replies, ignoring his tone. "At any rate, we're overdue for a Level Five security drill," she announces. "Let's proceed with the lockdown." A few taps on the keyboard in front of her and suddenly an unbearably loud, high-pitched siren is going off.

Immediately, Finnick and Rye each have one of my arms and begin to follow Boggs, who is gesturing for us to follow him. He leads us out of Command, along the hall, and then pauses at a doorway that I haven't noticed until now. It leads us into a wide stairwell that is already packed with people. You would think that such a terrifying situation would have people panicking. But this is District 13. They are completely calm, making their way down step by step in three single-file lines. It's odd how they immediately edge to the left, giving Boggs enough room to guide me, and by happenstance, Finnick and Rye down the stairs ahead of the others.

We continue to go further and further down until eventually my ears pop from the pressure and my eyes feel heavy. We're coal-mine deep. Still, we continue to go further and further down. The only plus to being so far underground is that the further down we travel, the more the siren's piercing shrill dies. It's like the sound is design to drive people away from it, and I suppose that that's probably the idea.

Groups of people begin to branch off, disappearing into marked doorways, but Boggs continues on down. Finally, we're at the very end of the stairs, which lead into a gigantic cavern. I take step forward to go in, but Boggs tells me that I have to wave my schedule in front of a scanner so that I'm accounted for. Rye and Finnick do the same and then Boggs leaves us.

Rye, Finnick, and I stand at the entrance for a moment, taking in our new surroundings. I see the numbers on the wall. "Guess we go to our room number," I say, turning to Finnick. "I'll see you later, okay?"

I hope this experience doesn't inhibit the progress he's making. Maya visiting him surely seemed to help and assisting with the propos seems to have given him a purpose. He's a bit more clear-headed now. Truthfully, I know there's only so much better he can get without Annie and knowing that she's safe. Preferably in his arms.

I know. Because I feel the same way about Peeta. Oh, Peeta . . .

I shake my head as tortuous images of Peeta fill my mind, seeing his blood splatter across the white tiles of the Capitol production room. I feel the baby moving in my stomach more than normal, obvious affected by the excitement of recent events, and I absently rub my stomach, as if to calm him.

"Well, you're in 303, right?" I ask and Rye nods. We walk to his little designated nook, and before I continue on to mine, he takes my hand, "I'll sneak over in a minute, okay?"

I nod, my eyes filling with tears, but I bat them back. I can't cry, yet. I'll cry later.

I'm walking to my own nook when I run into Plutarch. "And here you are," he says by way of greeting. He's still happy, Peeta's plight having little to no effect on him. He almost seems giddy due to Beetee's success. It makes me furious, but I manage to bite my tongue down on the flurry of curses I want to spit at him. "Katniss, obviously this is a bad moment for you, what with Peeta's setback, but you need to be aware that others will be watching you."

"What?" I manage to grit out. Did he seriously just refer to Peeta's perilous circumstances to something as degrading as a setback?

"The other people in the bunker, they'll be taking their cue on how to react from you. If you're calm and brave, others will try to be as well. If you panic, it could spread like wildfire," Plutarch explains, oblivious to the murderous thoughts that are now revolving in my mind. All centering on him.

"Why don't I just pretend I'm on camera, Plutarch?" I ask scathingly, but it's like he's immune.

"Yes! Perfect. One is always much braver with an audience," he says. "Look at the courage Peeta just displayed!"

That's it. "You know nothing of courage," I hiss at him, taking a menacing step forward. It thrills me to no end that he takes a step back in fear. Oh, he should be terrified. "Peeta possess more goodness in his little finger than you do in your entire body, courage only being one of his many qualities that makes him better than the rest of us. So don't you _dare_ pander to me about his courage when you cannot possibly fathom the feeling." Plutarch appears as though he wants to say something, but I cut him off. This is my time to speak, and he better damn well listen to every word. "The love of my life and father of my child is currently being tortured, maybe even killed," I pause, choking back sobs as I add, "Maybe he's already dead." Peeta certainly thought it was a possible consequence. I could see it in his eyes.

"Katniss—" Plutarch tries to interrupt me again, but I silence him with my most ferocious glare as I continue.

"And your main worry is that I remain calm and collected so everyone else can too?" My voice takes on a heavy condescension before I spit, "Go to hell."

And with that, I stalk to my designated space.

My space, which has _313_ in large letters on the wall, consists of an eight by eight square of stone floor. Just big enough for a small bed and a ground-level cube space for storage. I notice a sheet of plastic-covered paper on the bed, and pick it up. It reads _BUNKER PROTOCOL_.

The first section is entitled "On Arrival."

Make sure all members of your Compartment are accounted for.

I look around my compartment. The one who is supposed to share it with me is currently being tortured by the Capitol. Or . . . worse . . . being killed in a brutal manner for fulfilling his promise to always keep me safe, to always watch over me. I skip ahead to the next line, trying to read the words through my tear-filled eyes. My conversation with Plutarch did not help in my attempts to restrain the visual evidence of my grief.

Go to the Supply Station and secure one pack for each member of your Compartment. Ready your Living Area. Return pack(s).

I scan the cavern and spot the Supply Station, tucked away into a hollowed out corner with a long countertop in front of it. Some people are already milling around in the area, but there's not a lot of activity. I walk over, hand over my compartment number, and request one pack. The man checks a sheet of paper, moves back toward the shelves, selects my pack, and then hands it to me. Without another word, I turn around to head back to my compartment, and I'm startled when I see a long line that has formed. Are they seriously taking their cue from me? Do I really hold that much clout?

Once I'm back at my space, I scour through my pack, noting its contents. A thin mattress, bedding, two sets of grey clothing, a toothbrush, a comb, and a flashlight. I make up the bed, and then am left with no choice but to observe the last rule.

Await further instruction.

Brilliant.

I don't have too long to brood though, because my mother appears, looking anxious. "Where's Prim?" I ask.

My mother wrings her hands, and my heart is automatically doing double time. "I was hoping she was with you," she explains. "She's not at our Compartment, but I don't understand. She was supposed to come straight down from the hospital. She left ten minutes before I did. Where is she? Where could she have gone?"

I don't know. I have no idea why Prim wouldn't be here. But that doesn't matter right now. Immediately, I'm on my feet and my mother is right behind me as we begin to push through the crowd, trying to reach the entrance to the cavern. My heart stops when I'm able to see the doors, heavy and thick, begin to slowly slide inward. Intuitively, I know that when these doors shut, there's no convincing the soldiers to open them until the all clear.

And I'm running. As fast as I can, trying to maneuver myself through the throngs of people. It's not as easy as it would have been a few months ago, but I still manage. Politeness has gone out the window when I see the sliver between the closing doors grow smaller and smaller. I'm shouting at them to wait, to stop. The space between the doors continues to shrink. A yard. A foot.

Inches.

I throw myself forward, managing shove my hand through the tiny space. "Open it!" I demand. "Keep it open!"

Pure shock shows on the soldier's faces, but nonetheless, they open the doors a bit more and I wedge my shoulder into the space for good measure. "Prim!" I holler up the stairs. "Prim!" My mother is pleading with the guards as I continue to yell for Prim.

Then I hear faint footsteps. "Prim!" I call again, begging for an answer.

"We're coming!" is Prim's faint answer and I would relax if I didn't know that the battle was only half over. I still needed to get her through the doors.

"Hold the door!" Gale.

"They're coming!" I tell the guards. "Open the doors!"

The slide the doors open about a foot, but that will do. Finally, I see them. I don't move from my place until I absolutely have to and then Prim and Gale slip through the crack. Not a second after Gale is clear of the doors, they are shut. The guards aren't happy with the delay, but I don't care.

I grab Prim by the shoulders, giving her an angry shake before enveloping her in a tight hug. "What were you thinking?" I demand, my scolding tone marred considerably by the tears in my voice.

In answer, Prim steps out of my embrace, and slips a leather strap off her shoulder. The leather strap of my game bag. The game bag that contains all of Peeta's things. I feel guilty about the waves of relief and joy and gratefulness that course through me as I take the game bag from her. Prim risked her life for these things. Just because she knew how much they meant to me.

I shouldn't be grateful that she risked her life . . . but I am.

Almost as if sensing my inner struggle, Prim smiles slightly. "It's okay, Katniss," she assures me. "I know how much you need him."

I give her another tight hug, before allowing my mother to smother Prim with tears and affection and gentle scolding. I tell them that I'll be at my Compartment, but before I go, Gale grabs my arm. "He'll be alright, you know," he says, and I think of how Peeta spoke those very same words to me after Gale had been whipped.

"I know," I say, my voice trembling. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"You bet."

I retreat back to my space and find Rye waiting for me. He sees the added stress on my face, and I explain to him about the drama at the doors with Prim and Gale. Rye asks what's in the bag, and I show him. No one else but Prim knows the contents of the bag, but I don't mind showing Rye. Peeta is his brother.

However, I'm surprised and guiltily grateful once more when I realize that Prim saved more than Peeta's things. She also saved my father's hunting jacket, the plant book, and our parent's wedding photo. But Peeta's things are still there. His shirts. I take each one out and fold it neatly. Rye notes the presence of Peeta's favorite shirt, the blue one, with a sad smile. Next are the meager art supplies I brought back from our most recent trip to 12, and Rye makes a comment about flipping through one of the sketchbooks, the one that Peeta has already nearly filled. I tell him that we might later. I'm still wary about seeing his artwork without permission . . . and I'm wondering if there might be a nude sketch of me in there somewhere.

Definitely not something Peeta or I would want Rye to see.

I place everything back into the game bag neatly, just to give me something to do and occupy my mind. Because if I'm left with nothing to do, I know that I'll breakdown. I can only hope that I can quell my grief until bedtime. That way I can muffle the sobs in my pillow.

Coin's voice suddenly echoes throughout the cavern over the intercom system. She applauds everyone for acting exemplary, but reminds us all that this is not a drill. This is very real. Because Peeta Mellark, the District 12 victor, has possibly made a televised reference to an attack on 13 tonight.

Not a second after the words escape her lips, the first bomb hits.

* * *

**So how about that? Lots of stuff happened this chapter! But, alas, this only brings us closer to being reunited with our Peeta once more. Excitement!**

**The following is a summary for this chapter: Peeta paints the floor red, Coin has proven to be a Romulan, Plutarch got OWNED, Haymitch made everyone feel like an idiot (again), Rye doesn't know what's on TV, Finnick escaped the psych ward, Beetee and the Capitol played an interesting game of Halo, Gale ran a marathon with Prim, and Katniss has Peeta-cravings.  
**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Finnick!  
**

**"Initially, I only thought that Annie was beautiful, and that I hated knowing that I would probably watch her die."**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	9. Breath

**A/N: Hey, guys! I'm not going to be as chipper as usual because, quite frankly, I'm feeling kind of down lately. The last couple weeks of school have seemed to only bolster my desire to NOT be there, which is not very conducive to actually accomplishing all the crap my professors have me doing. Never fear, I get my work done. Too many years of overachieving forbid me to get behind. But, regrettably, I'm just not in a very good mood these days. In fact, some days, the only time I smile is when I read your reviews.  
**

**So could you please, please, please continue to be my rays of sunshine on a cloudy day? Thanks. I love you guys, I really do.**

**********************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

**********************************Rye: Come on, AC! Lighten up! You're all frowny.**

**********************************Peeta: Yeah, even from my place all the way in the Capitol cell . . . which I've been in for a month . . . patiently waiting to be rescued . . . you seem almost as miserable as me.**

**********************************Me: (nods) Professors can be the cruelest tortures and bringers of suffering.**

**********************************Katniss: Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?**

**********************************Me: Well, duh. I'm eighteen. Nothing can be as simple as it appears. And my world will be clouded in darkness and despair for the foreseeable future. It's just an accepted thing for teenagers to blow things out of proportion.**

**********************************Haymitch: Life sucks. Get over it, already.**

**********************************Me: And with those inspiring words, I'll happily carry on to the chapter.**

* * *

Chapter 9: Breath

_You take the breath right out of me_

_You left a hole where my heart should be  
_

_You've got to fight, just to make it through  
_

_'Cause I will be the death of you  
_

* * *

The impact of the blasts and those that follow are jarring to say the least, but they're not cataclysmic. After the initial hit, you would expect to look up and see a splintering crack running across the ceiling or chunks of the ceiling raining down in a cascade of stone. In reality, neither of those scenarios is what actually happens. In reality, the bunker merely shakes with each hit, not even a smidgen of dust falling from the ceiling.

It is reassuring and petrifying at the same time, because I'm just waiting for the missiles to take their toll and collapse the cavern in which I and so many others have taken refuge. Rye's arm around me is comforting, but I can't deny the intense longing I feel for Peeta. I want it to be Peeta's arm around me. I want it to be Peeta's voice I hear whispering reassurances in my ear.

I just want Peeta.

Another bomb shakes the bunker, causing another round of fearful shrieks and ragged breaths. The whimper of a baby makes my heart clinch and wrap my arms tighter around my stomach. I even hear a gleeful laugh, the kind of laugh that comes from one who is insane.

The noises around me, coupled with the recurring bombs, have me shaking with the need to do _something_. In every single dangerous, life-threatening situation I've been in, I've always had the ability to do something about it. Fight back. Run away.

Down here, there's no one for me to fight, and there's nowhere for me to run.

Even still, I contemplate running for the doors. I can see them in the faint glow of the lights. The power went out after the very first strike. But, being District 13, they were prepared for such a scenario and after a few seconds of suffocating darkness, the generator kicked on and flooded the cavern with a candlelight-like glow.

It's in this glow that I see the gargantuan metal doors, still guarded by the two guards that were there earlier. I know that nothing I say or do will get them to open the doors, but in my state I've almost convinced myself that it _is_ possible. And I would almost rather face whatever is going on above than the helplessness that drowns me here.

Almost.

The baby is what keeps me in my place. I can't do anything that would endanger the baby. Not after the fiasco in 8. I promised myself and Peeta that I wouldn't do anything that stupid again. No. I was staying here in this terrifying, suffocating hellhole because I knew that at the moment, it was the safest place in 13 and the only chance I had of keeping the baby alive.

"They're probably bunker missiles." Rye has hardly stopped talking since the bombing began. Whether it comforts him or he thinks it comforts me is unknown, but I haven't told him to shut up yet, so I guess he's taken that as his cue to keep talking. Honestly, I don't really mind. It reminds me of Peeta. "We learned about them during the orientation for new citizens," he continues. "They're designed to penetrate deep in the ground before they go off. Because there's no point in bombing 13 on the surface anymore." Rye pauses, and I know he has a poor excuse for a smile on his face as he adds, "Of course. You would know this too if you did what you were told and went to your classes."

"_I don't think you'll ever do what _anyone_ says. But that's only one of the many reasons why I love you."_

I feel my lips threaten to turn up at the memory. My tendency to flaunt my disregard for anything from rules to instructions is something I know Peeta finds endearing and infuriating at the same time. Endearing, because it is simply a part of who I am. I march to the beat of my own drum, and Peeta loves that about me. Infuriating, because I will still do what I think is right, like run _to_ the Cornucopia in the Quell, even though he'd told me the night before to run _away. _Sometimes I wonder how I don't drive Peeta insane.

"I have better things to do," I tell Rye, though my voice doesn't hold the amused superiority that I would have liked it to. Instead, my voice is tremulous as I glance up anxiously at the shuddering ceiling. "Do you think they're nuclear?" I ask him, feeling a chill creep up my spine at the thought.

"Nah," Rye shakes his head. "Some just have a lot of explosives in them. I don't think the Capitol would resort to nuclear missiles. If they did, they'd just be inviting a counterstrike and then they would be just as damaged as we are." We both pause as a particularly rough blast shakes the bunker, causing more than one small child to scream in fear. "We're so far down, I'm sure we're safe," Rye adds.

"It was a close call, though," I say quietly. "If Peeta hadn't warned us . . ."

"We'd be toast," Rye agrees. "But that's Wonder Boy for you. Always being the hero."

We fall into silence until it's broken by President Coin, announcing over the audio system that Peeta was, in fact, correct. "Apparently, Peeta Mellark's information was sound and we owe him a great debt of gratitude. Sensors indicate the first missiles were not nuclear, but very powerful. We expect more will follow. For the duration of the attack, citizens are to stay in their assigned areas unless otherwise notified."

Rye mutters something unintelligible under his breath, but I don't need to ask what he said. I know that it was something derogatory about Coin. How do I know this? Because I'm currently entertaining the same thoughts. Why people in 13 were so quick to assume Peeta had switched sides is beyond me. Nothing in his previous actions could ever lead them to believe that he had any inclination whatsoever to be a part of the Capitol's cause. Peeta's world consisted of me and the baby. He'd told me so, in so many words. In a variety of ways.

But that's just Peeta.

For the next three days, we're huddled in the bunker, which occasionally shakes with the force of the Capitol bombs. We're allowed to go to the bathroom and brush our teeth in groups and receive three meager rations a day. Just enough to keep you alive.

Rye spends nearly all of his time in my space with me. Silence pervades the space the majority of the time, but that doesn't bother us. Words are not necessarily what we want. Just silently supporting the other, merely by being present, is enough. There's not much to say anyway. Our thoughts are with Peeta, wondering if he's dead or alive.

Did his warning cost him his life?

The question taunts my mind mercilessly. I'm haunted by my nightmarish imaginings, all of the frightening scenes running on a constant loop before my mind's eye. I shut my eyes tightly, as if I could force the images away, but it doesn't work. Is Peeta still fighting? Or is my mother right? Has his strength run out? Can his body take no more? Has Snow decided that Peeta is no longer needed?

No. No, my mother is wrong. She has to be. She can't be right. Peeta can't die. He can't. He wouldn't do that to me. He wouldn't leave me alone. He wouldn't deny himself the joy of watching his child grow up. Peeta wouldn't do that.

He can't die.

On the second day, Rye and I decide to look through one of Peeta's sketchbooks that I brought back from the house; the one that is nearly full with his drawings. We commiserate over each page silently the majority of the time. The book is filled with portraits for the most part. My face is on the first page, a playful smirk toying at the corners of my lips. Haymitch is next, scowling. Rye and I both comment on how Peeta's rendering of our mentor is flawless. Prim's sweet smile adorns the third page. On and on, Peeta draws the members of his family, including Portia and Effie. Even Maya occupies a page.

However, the portraits slowly transform into pictures, pictures that no camera could possibly capture more beautifully than Peeta's capable hands. A day spent in the kitchen, my laughing form sprinkled with a handful of flour that Peeta had tossed in my face. Prim and Haymitch sitting opposite each other, looking serious as they stared at the chess board resting atop the table placed between them. A gleeful Rye holding a flustered Chris in a headlock. Maya lying contently on a blanket in front of a flickering fire.

The snapshots of time pass through every page, and I find the corners of my lips twitching as I fight to smile. Finally, I manage, and the smallest of smiles appears on my face as I soak up the way Peeta views the world. I'd asked him once, why he drew memories instead of creating his own scene. Peeta had shrugged and said, "Moments pass and then they're gone forever. But if I paint them, I can keep them alive in my own way."

"You know, he didn't always draw," Rye says after we close the sketchbook. "Sure, he took to frosting quicker than me or Chris, but he didn't literally start drawing until he was about . . ." Rye trails off as he does a mental count. "Thirteen, maybe?"

"Only four years?" I question, stunned. "He's only been drawing for four years and he can create something like this?" I hold up the entire sketchbook as evidence.

Rye smiles a little. "He's always been the Wonder Boy. Smarter. Stronger. Braver. Wiser. Kinder. And, not that I'll ever admit it to him, but he's the prettiest of us all."

We share a small smile.

It's the morning of the third day trapped in the cavern that I make my over to Prim. I realize that I should have gone to her sooner, but I couldn't make myself for a few reasons. Reason one is that I still harbor guilt. Guilt because I'm grateful she risked her life to bring me Peeta's things. Things that would have surely been destroyed if she'd left them. A second reason is Rye. We need each other because out of everyone, except Haymitch, we're the ones who fear the most for Peeta. We're the ones who would be the most effected by his death . . .

But Peeta won't die. He can't die. No, no he can't leave. Can't leave me in this alone.

Rye and I need this time together because we know exactly how each other feels. Shared pain, grief, worries, and most heartbreakingly of all . . . a shared hope. I'm clinging to that thin shred of hope with all that I am.

So, between all my chaotic feelings, I haven't had the chance to talk to Prim. But as I walk down the row to the space that she shares with our mother, I feel a little bit lighter. Almost like relief. It's only when I see her sweet face that I realize how I'm still reeling over the fact that she could have been trapped behind those doors, so close and yet so far from safety.

Again, all because she'd gone back to get Peeta's things. For me. Because she knew that I needed them. Because she knows that those things aren't merely things to me. They're Peeta. They're all that I have of him.

"Hey Katniss," she says with a small smile. "How are you?"

On the brink of losing my mind, but that's not what I say.

"Right now?" My voice would normally hold some teasing, but not now. I'm too weary.

"I miss home sometimes," Prim says as I settle onto the little cot beside her. "But then I remember there's nothing left to miss anymore. I feel safer here." She pauses, a small and yet sly smile gracing her lips. "I think they're going to train me to be a doctor."

I raise my eyebrows, feeling my own proud smile pull at my lips. "They'd be stupid not to," I say. "You deserve it. You'll be a great doctor."

"They've been watching me when I help out in the hospital. I'm already taking the medic courses. It's just beginner's stuff. I know a lot of it from home. Still, there's plenty to learn." It's an answer not unlike one Peeta would give. Modest, but eager.

"That's great," I tell her honestly, glad that there's a little something good happening. A little light amongst the darkness, Prim getting to strive to achieve her dream.

Prim and I fall into silence for a while. I don't know where our mother is, but I'm not curious enough to ask. I'm still angry with her for her seemingly failing faith in Peeta. The idea that Peeta would die is preposterous. I refuse to believe that it's a possibility. Peeta will live. He will not die.

He can't die.

"How are you?" Prim asks finally, breaking the silence. "And don't say you're fine. We both know you're not."

I sigh heavily, hating the moisture that wells in my eyes. "I'm scared for him, Prim," I admit softly, before I acknowledge the fear that has been haunting me ever since I saw Peeta's blood splatter the floor of the Capitol's film room. "They might kill him for this."

My voice is a tremulous whisper as I force back my sobs. I've cried myself to sleep every night, the image of the red-stained white floor imprinted in my mind. "I saw him, Prim. I saw the look in his eyes. He thought it was a possibility. He thought that they might kill him for warning us . . . but he told us about the bombing anyway. And now . . ." I trail off as my tears begin to slip from my eyes, my sobs building in my throat. "And now they might have . . . he could be . . ." The sobs finally escape me, causing me to be unable to continue.

Prim immediately begins to console me, rubbing a soothing hand on my back and whispering reassurances. I try to believe her. I try to believe her when she says that Peeta isn't dead. I want to believe her desperately. I'm desperate, holding on to my last hope. My last unfailing hope that Peeta is surviving for me and the baby like Dr. Riley said. That he's living because he has something to live _for_.

Because Peeta dying is simply not possible.

He can't die.

Traitorously, my mind dredges up a memory. A steaming hot arena surrounded by dense greenery. Peeta's knife swinging down and hitting the force field, blasting him backward. His body landing lifelessly on the ground. Placing my fingers over his lips only to feel no breath. Placing my head on his chest only to feel no heartbeat.

Peeta has died before. For a brief few minutes, he left me alone to survive the arena, lead a rebellion, and raise our child alone.

But he came back. He came back because I'd asked him to.

_Only because you said please._

"Katniss." Prim's voice cuts through the memory, distorting it. When I blink back my tears, I see her expression—worried, but confident. "Katniss, listen to me. Breathe, okay? Deep breaths." I hate that I'm so weepy, that I can almost cry on cue these days because of pregnancy hormones. Not to mention the stress that I'm under, but nonetheless I focus on Prim's face, breathing with her, until my tears have ceased to fall and I'm relatively calm.

Only then does Prim continue. "I don't think Snow will kill Peeta," she says surely. "If he does, he won't have anyone left you want. He won't have any way to hurt you."

The logic is cruel, but true.

Prim is right. Snow can't afford to kill Peeta, especially since I, as the Mockingjay, am wreaking so much havoc. He may have killed Cinna and destroyed my home, but my family, my child, Gale, and Haymitch are out of his reach. Peeta is all that he has in his arsenal. While I may not like the situation, I have to admit that Prim's words give me hope. It means that Peeta won't die.

He can't die.

Before I can stop myself, I ask, "What do you think they will do to him?"

Why did I ask? Don't my nightmares haunt me enough? Aren't my imaginings enough torture?

But those frightening images don't hold half the fear that Prim's answer does. Her voice sounds thousands of years old as she replies, "Whatever it takes to break you."

For the rest of the day, my little sister's words consume me. Not even the missiles that shake the bunker have enough force to draw me from my mind. In a futile attempt that only lasts minutes, I try to redirect my mind to focus on the bombs. The attacks are more spread out now, occurring every few hours. Just to keep you on edge. Just so when you start to think that it's over, the Capitol shocks you with the truth that it's not. Coin was right when she said that the Capitol wouldn't destroy us. You don't destroy what you plan to acquire in the future. The Capitol's main goal is damage. Damage 13 so that we can't focus on our Airtime Assault. Keep me off the television screens.

Coin rarely gives updates, and when she does they are brief, less-than-a-minute summaries of what has happened. She ends each update with a, "Thank you for your cooperation" and then the audio link clicks off sharply.

But this doesn't hold my attention for more than a few minutes. I ignore the calls for food. Rye brings me my rations for the day. I ignore the time allotted for socialization, and no one tries to talk to me. The only time I move is to go to the bathroom and to bathe. Otherwise I'm lying down on my pitiful cot, staring blankly at a spot on the wall.

What will break me?

That pesky voice in the back of my mind tells me that I'm already breaking. Slowly but surely, the knowledge of Peeta's suffering is chipping away at my heart. My strength is failing, little by little. I'm reminded of Gale's words to me in the hallway, the day after Peeta's second interview with Caesar.

_You're this close to breaking, Katniss. This close. __You can try to convince yourself otherwise and so far you've been doing a good job, but don't think for one second you can fool me. I can see it in your eyes, Katniss. Half of you isn't there, and I know it's because of him . . . you can only live with half of yourself for so long . . ._

I can only live with half of myself for so long before I break. Gale thinks it's just a waiting game. Like a time-bomb. Seconds just ticking by, every tick closer to the explosion of grief and despair that will consume me.

It's just a matter of time.

But I refuse to believe it. I won't break. I will ignore that voice in the back of my head, like I have been. It's lying. I am strong. I will not break. I will not break because Peeta will not die.

He can't die.

I don't know at what time, but Rye rouses me from my semi-conscious state, pleading with me to move around and stretch my legs. That's his excuse at least. I think he just wants me to prove that I'm still sane. That I haven't succumbed. So, to prove that I'm still strong and still fighting, I oblige and swing my legs over the side of the cot and get up to walk around.

I ignore the thought that I'm doing this to prove to myself that I haven't succumbed to the grief. Instead, to thwart the thought, I fill myself with determination. I will get Peeta back. No more puppet strings, having Coin or 13 pull me every-which-way. When we get out of this damn cavern, I'm demanding that she rescue Peeta. There's no other option. After all, if it hadn't been for Peeta, I'm sure that many would have died. Peeta probably saved thousands of lives. 13 owes him. This fire fuels me, and I feel better. The desperation that floats in the back of my mind is nearly pushed to nonexistence.

I'm getting my husband back.

My feet eventually wander over to Finnick. He's playing with his rope, tying knots swiftly and efficiently. When he hears my approach, he looks up and then pats a spot on his cot beside him. I take the seat offered, but Finnick doesn't strike up a conversation. He simply goes back to tying knots in his rope, which leaves me to my thoughts.

Peeta.

Too many images. Too many ghostly screams. Too many heart-wrenching memories. What will break me? No. No, I'm getting Peeta back. I'm getting him back. 13 will rescue him. I will make it happen because it's my one last desperate attempt to keep myself together. Because if I don't get Peeta back soon . . .

_. . . you can only live with half of yourself for so long . . ._

"Tell me about Annie."

Finnick's hands freeze, the half-finished knot in his fingers slipping from his grasp and falling onto the floor at his feet. I would normally feel guilty for shocking him so, but I'm being selfish. I need a distraction from my thoughts. Desperately.

"Anything," I continue. "How'd you meet? What made you fall for her? What's she like?"

Finnick gaps at me for a moment, like a fish out of water, before he swallows and looks at his feet. "She's beautiful," he admits softly. "And sweet and . . . innocent." He looks up at me, a sad, wry smile on his lips. "And yet, at the same time, she's the wisest person I know. I think it's just how she sees things, you know? She sees the simple things, things that you wouldn't normally spare a thought for, but she sees them and she makes sure that you do, too. She's just . . . a breath of fresh air."

I force myself to focus on Finnick's words, not giving myself time to think of my own mind-lurking shadows. "How'd you meet her?"

"I was her mentor," Finnick answers. "She was one of my first tributes . . ." he trails off. "I was attracted to her, sure, but I didn't give her much thought. I was too torn between the pressure of mentoring two kids my age, knowing that I would have to choose which one I wanted to try to save."

"But it didn't really matter, did it?" I say, remembering Annie's games, and how the entire arena had flooded. Annie survived simply because she was the best swimmer.

"No, not in the end," Finnick agrees. "But . . . before the Games had started . . . Mags and I had chosen to save Erik."

I'm shocked. "What?" He hadn't immediately chosen Annie?

Finnick shrugs. "Erik had the higher training score, showed the most potential." His sea green eyes lock with my steel grey. "Not everyone has a whirlwind romance, Katniss. You and Peeta . . . you two are like magnets. Always been drawn to each other, whether you acknowledged it or not. It wasn't like that for me. Initially, I only thought that Annie was beautiful, and that I hated knowing that I would probably watch her die."

"Of course, that didn't happen," Finnick continues. "The arena flooded and Annie won . . . but her battles were far from over." Yes, I image Annie's battles had only just begun. "She wasn't the same girl when she came out of the arena," he says. "None of us are, but Annie . . . well, she was . . . shell-shocked. I remember when Mags and I and her stylist came to collect her from the hospital. She was just laying there on the bed, staring at the opposite wall. I don't know what she was seeing, but it kept her frozen. And seeing her like that, so _trapped, _made me feel something for her. I didn't know it back then, but I think that's when I made the first step toward her. To falling for her. Because I wanted to protect her. I couldn't do that in the arena. But now that we were out of the arena, I wanted to protect her. Even from her own mind."

"Eventually, over the years, we became good friends. The Capitol tried to keep her on drugs. Sedatives and things . . . they said it would "help" her, but they just drained all the life from her. Annie didn't want to take them, and so I didn't make her." Finnick looks at me. "She's not crazy like everyone says. She's just more . . . fragile in some ways. Sometimes she'll zone out. Sometimes she'll talk to someone who isn't there. But she's still the sweetest girl I know."

"When did you know?" I ask softly.

"That I loved her?" Finnick assumes and I nod. A light has entered his eye, a fondness that I haven't seen. For a moment, it eclipses the sadness and the pain in his green orbs. "Honestly, she snuck up on me. Thinking back, I'd known subconsciously that I'd been in love with her for years, but Annie never made a move and I didn't either. We were best friends."

"Until?"

"Until she saved my life." Finnick must see the confusion and shock that's on my face because he smiles faintly. "Surprised? So were a lot of people."

"What happened?"

"Whenever I'm home, I always take the boat out to sea," Finnick begins. "There's nothing better. Crisp, salty air. The waves lapping against the boat. The birds overhead. The sun warming your skin . . ." He sighs. "Anyway, I was out fishing when out of nowhere a storm blew in. I barely had any warning, just a change in the air. It wouldn't have been so bad if I wasn't so far from shore, but I was miles out. I managed to get halfway back before the storm was on me. Worst storm I've ever encountered, and that's saying something because in 4 we'll fish in just about anything. A little rain, a little wind—no problem. But this rain was filling up the boat. The wind blew through my sails. And then lightning struck, and suddenly I was in the water."

"I could barely keep my head up. The waves had to be forty feet and the wind . . . the wind kept blowing water into my eyes. Only because I managed to get air into my lungs did I know for sure that I was even above the water. But I was wearing out fast. I tried to ride the waves as much as I could, but the current was stronger than ever. I thought I was going to die. Ironic death for a guy from 4, right? Drowning."

"But then Annie was there, cutting through the water like butter. She grabbed a fistful of my shirt and we managed to make it back to her boat. We made it back to shore, but not without almost capsizing a few times." Finnick shakes his head. "I still don't understand how we made it through."

"How did she know you were in trouble? Or where you were in the first place?" I ask bewildered.

Finnick smiles. "She says that Erik told her. So she went out to get Ernie, one of our friends and coincidentally, the best captain in 4. Ernie's the only one who would have had the guts to go out into that storm. So, she and Ernie set out, and the moment Annie saw me in the water, she dove in."

"When we made it back to my house, we were both soaked to the bone, freezing, and on the brink of collapse. But when I looked at her, she still looked just as beautiful as she did when I first laid eyes on her." Finnick looks puzzled for a moment, though a wry smile quirks his lips. "I don't know what it was, but that's when it all hit me. I loved her. So, in my naturally charming way, I flashed her my most devastating smile, took her in my arms, and said, 'Thanks for saving me, gorgeous.' Then I kissed her, and, much to my surprise, she kissed me back."

We're silent for a few more minutes before Finnick suddenly turns to me, and I know by looking into his eyes that the somewhat normal Finnick I just spoke to has retreated back into the depths of his mind. Worry and fear begin to coalesce in his eyes as he pins me with his stare. "I love her, Katniss," he tells me sincerely, almost like a plea.

He quickly reaches down to pick his rope up off the floor, his fingers automatically beginning to manipulate it as he suddenly trains his eyes on the rope. "I try to distract myself, you know? Because I can't bear it. Obviously, I don't. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking . . ." He stops, because he must see the knowing in my eyes. I know exactly how he feels. "Best not give in to it," he tells me. "It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart."

Finnick would know.

For the rest of the day, I sit on my cot and focus my attention on the baby. I count the number of times I feel him moving around. I rub my stomach, as if to soothe him. I wonder what he'll look like. If he'll take after me or Peeta. Will he like to paint or will he like to hunt? Will he have my determination or Peeta's rationality? Will he have my cunning or Peeta's kindness?

Is he even a boy? What if _he_ is a _she?_

I don't know why exactly, but I'm nearly positive that it's a boy. Call me crazy, but it's just a feeling I have.

Eventually, I'm drawn from my thoughts when Coin comes over the audio system and announces that it's safe to return to our quarters, if they haven't been destroyed by the bombs. If they _have_ been blown to smithereens, new quarters will be assigned. I grab all of Peeta's things and place them in the game bag before beginning to make my way toward the doors with Rye, when Boggs suddenly cuts through the crowd and takes me by the arm, beginning to lead me in a different direction. Rye sticks to my side the entire way, and as we slither through the crowd, Boggs spots Finnick and Gale and motions for them to join us.

A long few flights of stairs, an equally long hallway, and a multidirectional elevator ride later, Boggs is leading us all toward Special Defense. I can't tell if anything has been damaged, so I'm assuming that the division made it through the bombing unscathed.

Haymitch suddenly walks out of a room, shutting the door behind him with a bit more force than needed. His eyes catch mine and I immediately know that he's pissed . . . more so than usual. I raise my eyebrows in question, but he merely scowls before he says. "You're headed to your new Remake Room," he says. "Coin wants you suited up and aboveground. Need two hours of footage to show the damage from the bombing, establish that 13 isn't dead, and that you're still alive and kickin'."

I open my mouth to ask about rescuing Peeta, but Haymitch cuts me off, almost as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "Working on that, sweetheart, but it's hard to accomplish something when I'm surrounded by idiots."

Boggs looks offended, but Haymitch doesn't care.

"Now, go get fixed up," he barks. "Ready in twenty."

And with that, Haymitch stalks down the hallway. I glance at the door from which he appeared and deduce that it's the new, hastily constructed Command. But I barely have time to wonder if Coin is behind the door before Boggs begins to lead me further down the hallway. I assume that he, Rye, and Gale will go get suited up as well.

When I enter my new Remake Room, my prep team quickly and efficiently makes me camera-presentable. Quicker than I would have thought possible, Octavia shapes my nails, Venia applies my minimal makeup, and Flavius's fingers work their magic with my hair. They put me in my Mockingjay suit, which is a little bit snugger around my chest than the last time I wore it, but I don't complain, even though it's quickly growing uncomfortable.

Boggs comes to collect me and then leads me through the labyrinth that is District 13. After a series of hallways and ladders leading higher and higher, we finally reach a trap door. Boggs opens the latch and in the next few seconds, I'm standing in the middle of the forest.

Gale, Rye, Haymitch, Cressida, and the rest of the camera crew are already there. Immediately, I retreat from Boggs's side to stand by Haymitch. We begin to trek through the woods, and I take deep breaths of the clean air. It's only now when I'm in the open expanse of the forest that I realize just how much I truly detested the bunker. I let my fingers trail over the leaves that we pass that are within my reach and that's when I notice that some of them are starting to turn. Green fading into a variety of orange, red, and yellow. I turn to Haymitch. "What day is it?"

"First week of September," Haymitch says grimly, and I know why.

If it's the first week of September, Peeta has been in the Capitol's clutches for a little more than a month. A little more than a month of torture. A little more than a month of painfully approaching a death that seems so close and yet so far.

A little more than a month since I last felt his arms around me. A little more than a month since I last felt his lips on mine. A little more than a month since I heard him tell me he loved me. A little more than a month since I felt whole.

_. . . you can only live with half of yourself for long . . ._

My breathing begins to quicken without my consent, as we continue to tread through the forest. Debris begins to litter our path, and only a minute later we come to our first crater. Thirty yards wide and I don't know how deep. All I see is a black pit. Darkness.

Trying to smother me . . .

_. . . you're this close to breaking . . ._

Vaguely, I hear Boggs explaining that anyone on the first ten levels would likely have been killed.

"Can you rebuild it?" Gale asks.

"Not anytime soon. That one didn't get much. A few backup generators and a poultry farm." Boggs doesn't seem too worried. "We'll just seal it off."

The trees give way to the area inside the fence, which is peppered with gigantic black holes, the evidence of the Capitol's attacks. Old and new rubble litter the area and Cressida maneuvers through it all almost mindlessly as she scans the area around her, looking for what will give her the best footage.

"How much of an edge did Peeta's warning give you?" Someone asks, causing my heart to jumpstart at the sound of Peeta's name. A shuddering breath escapes my lips and a tremble begins to build in my hands. I clench my fists tightly.

_Peeta . . ._

"About ten minutes before our own systems would've detected the missiles," Boggs answers.

"But it did help, right?" Rye pursues.

"Absolutely." The tremble slowly taking over my body is only exacerbated by the affirmative answer. Peeta saved people. District 13 owes him. District 13 will save him. They have to.

He can't die.

". . . civilian evacuation was completed. Seconds count when you're under attack. Ten minutes meant lives saved."

Lives saved. Peeta saved lives. District 13 should save his.

He can't die.

Cressida wants to film me in front of the Justice Building, and as we make our way toward what was once the grand entrance (after skirting around the edge of a massive crater), Gale points to something, causing everyone to pause and glance in that direction. It takes me a moment to put a name to the spots of bright color that dot the ground, but when a sickeningly sweet familiar smell assaults my nostrils, I realize exactly what the atrocities are.

Roses.

"Don't touch them!" I yell in a choked voice before adding in a whisper, "They're for me."

They must have been dropped after the bombing. Slightly wilted, but no less disgustingly beautiful. President Snow's second delivery. While the first rose he'd delivered, the white rose that used to lay on mine and Peeta's bed at home, had fueled my anger and nearly possessed me with rage, this second delivery nearly has me in tears.

Two dozen pink and red roses. Flowers not meant for one, but for a pair of lovers.

I try to explain the roses to the others, and upon inspection the flowers appear to be harmless, but nonetheless they're carted off by a crew of men in special suits. They won't find anything special about the roses, if only the fact that they're genetically enhanced. They don't understand the purpose the roses serve. Like watching Cinna be beaten before the Quell. President Snow wants me to break.

I try to rally, like I have in the past. Try to summon my anger, my determination, but none of that consuming fire fills me. Instead, a cold begins to creep up my spine, only further inciting my trembling that's now taken over my entire body. My breathing is becoming even shorter, almost gasping.

I'm drowning . . .

I'm barely aware of Cressida positioning me in front of the Justice Building. "Now, just a few quick lines that show you're alive and still fighting," she tells me. "Okay?"

"Okay." I stare at the camera, at the little red dot that tells me it's recording. I stare and stare, but nothing comes to me. All I can think of is Peeta and roses. Peeta and roses. Life and death. "I-I'm sorry," I stammer. "I've got nothing."

Nothing. I've got nothing left.

"You feeling okay?" Cressida asks concerned, blotting my face with a handkerchief. "How about we do the old Q-and-A thing?"

"Yeah, that would help, I think." I'm still shaking, and so I cross my arms, as if to lessen the action. I glance at Gale, and see that he's watching me cautiously, like he's just waiting for something to happen and doesn't quite know what to do.

_. . . you're this close to breaking . . ._

Cressida's back in position by the camera. "So, Katniss. You've survived the Capitol bombing of 13. How did it compare with what you experienced on the ground in 8?"

_Everything I do, I do for you . . . _Peeta . . .

"We were so far underground this time, there was no real danger." Not for me, anyway. "13's alive and well"—but not Peeta—"and so am . . ." My trembling evolves to full-fledged shaking. My eyes burn. My heart cracks.

I gasp.

"Try the line again," Cressida encourages. "13's alive and well and so am I."

"13's alive and . . ." I can still smell the roses. Death. I can still smell those damn roses. "13's alive and well and . . ."

_I'll do anything to keep you safe._

Peeta, you can't die.

"Katniss, just this one line and you're done today. I promise," Cressida says gently. "13's alive and well and so am I."

I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm myself just enough to say the line and be done with it. Just say the line, be the Mockingjay, and then be done for the day. Be the Mockingjay.

But . . .

Every step I take as the Mockingjay is just one more tortuous second for Peeta. All this time, I've been doing this to get him back, but every time I strike as the Mockingjay, Peeta is punished. I'm hurting him. I'm the one responsible. He's being tortured because of me. It's all my fault.

I have been helping the Capitol kill Peeta.

_. . . you're this close to breaking . . ._

"Come on, Katniss," Cressida encourages. "Just that one line."

_. . . you can only live with half of yourself for so long . . ._

I open my mouth to say something. Anything. But all that escapes me is a choked gasp. My body shivers with despair. My eyes burn with tears as a sob rips through my throat, and I collapse, falling to my knees due to the shattering pain of my heart.

I'm broken.

* * *

**And . . . end scene! It's finally happened, folks. Katniss has succumbed . . . or has she?**

**I know, I know . . . I can never seem to be straightforward . . . which is odd because in real life I'm an incredibly blunt, straightforward girl. Seriously, never ask me if your "butt looks big in these pants." Because, if it's true, I will reply, "Yes, honey, you're butt looks as big as Alabama. You've got the Bama-Butt goin' on."**

**Anyhoo . . . back to the story . . . summary time!**

**Katniss has a mental breakdown due to I-Might-Have-Just-Killed-Peeta Syndrome; Rye likes to hold singalongs as bombs are threatening to kill them all; Haymitch is surrounded by idiots; Finnick was in the boat when the boat tipped over, but no . . . he was in the water!; Annie is revealed to be the Ghost Whisperer; Gale proves to be a Fortune Teller as his latest prophecy comes to fruition; and Coin is . . . she's . . . well, where is she? Oh, yeah, she actually wasn't physically here this chapter . . .**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Boggs!**

**"We got him."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	10. Bring Him Home

**A/N: Guys . . . I have an announcement to make . . . it may come as a shock to you all, but . . .  
**

**I LOVE YOU! YOU ARE ALL RAYS OF SUNSHINE ON A CLOUDY DAY!  
**

**Also, I have another reason to be very excited (aside from your awesomeness). I wrote the preface for my own novel the other day and I am SO FREAKISHLY EXCITED. **

**So, I'm in a better mood, thanks to you guys . . . unfortunately I don't think you guys will be too happy with me. Just know beforehand that I have proven to be quite cruel at times with these flimsy things called "cliffhangers."**

**************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

**************************************Me: Okay, guys! Let's move! Move! Move! Move!**

**************************************Rye: What's with the excitement?**

**************************************Me: I'm finally rescuing Peeta, that's what's with!**

**************************************Peeta: It's about damn time. Seriously, this place is not sunshine and daisies.**

**************************************Haymitch: I think that's the point of prison.**

**************************************Me: Especially when you're in there for treason.**

**************************************Katniss: WILL YOU JUST RESCUE HIM ALREADY?!**

* * *

Chapter 10: Bring Him Home

_God, on high hear my prayer  
_

_In my need, you have always been there  
_

_You can take, you can give  
_

_Let him be, let him live  
_

_Bring him home  
_

* * *

Arms wrap around me. Haymitch. He's soothing me like he did the morning before we went back to 12. After I had the nightmare about Peeta. The nightmare where he blamed me for his torture. The nightmare when he told me that it was all my fault.

He's right. All this time, I thought I was fighting to save him, but that's not true. My fighting has been slowly killing him. It's all my fault.

"I can't do this anymore," I sob into Haymitch's chest, clutching onto his shirt as though it's the last thing connecting me to the world. "I can't . . . it's my fault . . . if he dies . . . because I . . . I . . . I just can't . . . do this . . . anymore . . ."

Haymitch holds me tighter. "I know, sweetheart."

The rest of the day is a blur to me. Sketchy memories of being carried back into 13. Vague voices shouting orders. An angry, demanding Haymitch. A persuasive Gale. A pleading Rye. A crying Finnick. A determined Boggs. Flashes. Chaotic flashes of memory.

Eventually, I manage to come to my senses, but I still feel like a specter. Like I'm not really here. And I realize that I'm not. Gale was right. I can only live with half of myself for so long.

I'm broken.

An achingly hollow feeling consumes my heart, which is pained with each pump of blood it's forced to make. Each breath feels like I'm inhaling thousands of needles. Sharp and gasping. My eyes are tired and burning from shed tears. My entire body aches from the force of my sobs. I hurt. Physically and emotionally, I'm in agony.

I just want to let go. This slow suffering that's sucking all the life out of me . . . death would be an escape. An easy escape. No more pain. Nothing. I would feel nothing, and I would be nothing. The thought almost makes me smile.

And then my stomach flutters, reminding me that I'm not alone.

The baby. Our baby. The reason that I'm still here. The reason that I'm living. The only reason. The baby is the reason. For everything. I can't give up. The baby is what connects me with Peeta. The baby is a piece of Peeta, a reminder, a living memory. I can't let go.

I may be broken, but I'm not giving up.

The sound of a door opening and closing draws me from my thoughts and forces my mind to truly make sense of my surroundings. A small room, practically identical to my previous compartment except for the warmer grey tones on the wall. I'm lying on an uncomfortable bed, buried under scratchy sheets. A slightly damp, lumpy pillow rests under my head, and I realize that I must have managed to shed more tears in my sleep.

"You look like shit," Haymitch says as he settles into a creaky rocking chair by the bed.

I give no reaction, and instead study his features. Waxen skin. Bloodshot eyes. Nappy hair. "You're one to talk," I finally reply, my voice hoarse from crying.

I imagine if he were truly capable at the moment, Haymitch would have smiled. If only because I just proved that I'm not completely lost, that there's still a part of me deep down that refuses to break, at least not completely.

"Dr. Riley ordered two full days of bedrest," Haymitch informs me. "She scares me."

"She has a soft side," I defend meekly. "It's just really, really, _really_ deep down."

"Anyway, they ran a few tests on you while you were out," he continues. "Just to see how things are going. Everything's fine."

I relax a little. I hadn't even given a thought to how the stress of the past few days may have affected the baby. Wait, how long have I been out in the first place? Haymitch must see the question in my eyes because he says, "You've been out of it for a day. One more day of being useless."

There's something in his tone, or maybe his choice of words. _Useless_. Instinctively I know that something is going on, something that has Haymitch stressed and trying to hide it. I take in his appearance once more. Waxen skin—fatigue. Bloodshot eyes—hours without sleep. Messy hair—too busy to care about hygiene.

"What's going on?" I ask, trying to put some modicum of strength into my voice.

Haymitch studies me for a moment, ascertaining if I'm strong enough to receive whatever news he's about to deliver. I try to make myself look as commanding and strong as I can, though I think I come off more as a desperate, broken girl pleading for some ray of hope. But apparently Haymitch sees what he's looking for and says something that makes my broken heart hammer against my ribcage.

"Plutarch's sent in a rescue team."

It takes a moment for my mind to truly comprehend what Haymitch just revealed. Plutarch sent in a rescue team. To the Capitol. The Capitol where Peeta is prisoner. They are going to rescue him. Peeta is being rescued.

I'm getting my husband back.

"We're going to get him back, Katniss," Haymitch says, confirming my thoughts. "It's costly, but we were able to convince Coin. Covers will be blown. People may die, but keep in mind that they're dying every day. And we're getting Johanna and Annie out, too."

I nod, happy that Annie is being rescued as well, but I still barely give her a second thought. My thoughts are consumed by Peeta. Peeta is coming back to me. I'm getting him back. I'm going to see his face.

And yet a wisp of doubt clouds my mind, almost as though it's too good to be true. I won't be able to feel the explosive amount of joy that's threatening to burst my heart until I see Peeta for myself. Until I hear him say my name. I have to see him to believe that he's truly with me.

Anxious energy suddenly encompasses me and I feel the need to pace, which is counterproductive to my order of bedrest. Haymitch must see the change in my eyes because a ghost of a smile haunts his lips. "Yeah, I'm ready to see the kid, too, sweetheart."

To distract myself, I ask him another question. "Who's leading the team?"

"Boggs, naturally," Haymitch replies immediately but I sense something he's holding back. "He pretended to ignore my raised hand. See? He's already demonstrated good judgment."

Something's not right. "Haymitch, who else volunteered?"

"I think there were seven all together," he answers ambiguously and my hammering heart is threatening to burst out of my chest as anxiety and fear begins to twist my stomach.

"Haymitch," I demand, though it sounds more like a plea. "Who else?"

My mentor sighs in defeat before looking me in the eye knowingly. "You know who else, Katniss. You know who stepped up first."

Of course I do.

Gale and Rye.

There's nothing more to say between Haymitch and me. There's nothing that we can do, and neither of us are the type to console someone with comforting words. We don't have the patience. So we spend the hours in silence, slowly filling the room with anxious tension and nervous energy.

It's suffocating, but neither of us flinches. Sometimes I'll struggle for breath, fighting back pointless tears. I blame hormones. Haymitch, in an action that is both comforting and irritating at the same time, rocks back and forth in the chair, causing a steady metronome to pulse through the room.

There's a knock on the door some three hours after I first woke up, and Haymitch grumbles, his bones creaking in protest as he rises from the rocking chair. I don't bother to roll over to face whoever is at the door, but a distinct whine causes me to tense in recognition. Not a second later, the bed suddenly sinks beside me, and a wet tongue begins to lick my face.

"Maya." I manage to turn to face her, and am rewarded with a pair of indigo eyes staring back at me. My fingers tangle in her fur as she settles down to lie beside me, resting her head on her paws. She exhales deeply, content, and I relax. Another silent sentinel to watch over me.

"Figured you could use her." I look up to see the Lieutenant Caine standing in the doorway. Our eyes meet. "We're still with you, Mockingjay."

"Thanks," I say, even though the support of District 13 is the last thing on my mind.

Caine returns a brief nod in reply and then leaves. Haymitch shuts the door behind her, and then resumes his place in the rocking chair. He glances at Maya disdainfully, not at all thrilled with her presence . . . and then his nose crinkles before he sneezes violently. "I hate that damn mutt," he mutters darkly, glaring at my furry friend.

Really, it shouldn't have taken me this long to figure out, practically a year, but it's just now dawning on me. "You're allergic," I say, almost in wonder.

"Brilliant deduction, sweetheart. Really, I'm blown away by your deductive powers," he retorts dryly.

I feel my lips twitch as I fight a smile. "I'm sure the hospital has something."

"Not a chance in hell I'm going in there before I have to," he replies, though his tone lacks its usual bite. "I'll be in there long enough as it is."

Peeta.

What condition will Peeta be in when he arrives? I flinch as I remember the last time I saw him. His skinny form—how much weight had he lost?—sitting in a metal chair in the film room of the Capitol, an uncontrollable tremble in his hands and anxious, pain-filled eyes. To the rest of Panem, I doubt they noticed much of his condition. Maybe they had seen the weight loss, but Peeta's true suffering was hidden. Though his face had seemed unscathed, I've learned over the past year to never underestimate a prep team. I think of Peeta's black suit. What lay hidden underneath? Scars? Bandages?

Evidence of what he has endured.

How long will it take him to recover? District 13's medicine is good, but it's nowhere near Capitol standards. Will he be in the hospital for weeks? Months? How long will it take him to heal? Physically, I know that Peeta will recover. His wounds will heal. His bones will mend. He will gain back the weight he's lost. But what about his mind?

How does being tortured for more than a month change you?

"Tell me what's going on," I say quickly, needing a distraction. "What happened after I . . ."

"Collapsed?" Haymitch offers and I nod. 'Collapsed' sounds much better than shattering into tiny little pieces. "Well, we took care of you first," he says. "Gale carried you to the hospital, and Rye was going to stay with you while the rest of us went to talk to Coin." I frown as a muddled memory of an argument congeals in my mind. Haymitch sees my face and explains with a scowl, "Coin was already at the hospital, so we ended up having it out right there outside your room. It took an hour to convince her that rescuing Peeta was the right thing to do." Haymitch shakes his head in disgust. "Bitch can't stand to be proven wrong," he mutters to himself before looking at me and continuing. "An extraction team was assembled on a volunteer basis. Gale and Rye were the first to sign on. Finnick wanted to go too, but he's too compromised. Instead, they found him something else to do."

Anger glows dimly in Haymitch's eyes, but I don't know if it's directed toward Finnick or someone else. "We decided that we would need a distraction. Something that would keep Snow's attention and the rest of the Capitol distracted while we rescued Peeta. Plutarch kept saying that it had to be big, something that couldn't be ignored. They wanted to use you, to have you tell about how Peeta led the Capitol hovercraft away from you the last night in the arena, but Dr. Riley wouldn't have it. Too much stress. And so Finnick volunteered."

"Volunteered what?" I ask, and Haymitch hesitates.

Finally, he replies, "Secrets."

My mind briefly flashes back to my first encounter with Finnick, at the chariot before the parade.

"_Oh, I haven't dealt with something trivial as money in years."_

"_Then how do others pay for your company?"_ I'd asked.

Finnick had smiled, but now that I know him better I realize that under the mischievous twinkle, there were years of sorrow and haunted pain. _"With secrets."_

Pay for his company with secrets. The words roll around in my head as I try to decipher them. The phrase ruminates in my head for a minute before the realization hits me like a ton of bricks. _Pay for his company_.

Instantly, my mind is filled with images. Every single time I turned on the TV during the Games and saw Finnick parading around the Capitol with a woman on his arm. Different women every day, varying in age and beauty. _Pay for his company_.

Bile rises in my throat as another flashback invades my mind. The morning after the fog. Finnick and I sitting on the beach as Peeta slept. Finnick cracking open shellfish and placing them in one of the many grass-woven bowls he had crafted.

"_So Peeta doesn't get jealous?" Finnick asks me, reverting back to our previous conversation._

"_Nope," I pop another piece of shellfish into my mouth. "Possessive, maybe. Especially when we're in the Capitol."_

_A light shines in Finnick's eyes. A haunted, very knowing light. I don't understand, but I don't question him. "I could understand why," he eventually says._

Yes, I bet he could.

"President Snow forced him into prostitution," I say, horror building in my eyes as hundreds of thoughts begin flying a mile a minute through my mind. "Are all the victors . . ." I trail off and Haymitch nods.

"Practically. It's good money," he says derisively. My morbid mind formulates a question that I don't necessarily want the answer to, but as always, Haymitch seems to know. "It didn't happen to me," he says. "I'd already made fools of the Capitol. I came home from the Games to find my family dead. My mother, my brother, even my girl." Haymitch trails off, years of sadness aging him fifty years. "I was planning to marry her," he adds softly. "Ellie. That was her name."

"I'm sorry." The words are useless. They don't change anything, but I can't help but say them.

"So am I," he replies before the previous softness in his eyes hardens to stone. "Anyway, Snow sells all the victors. If a victor is desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love." Haymitch growls in anger and frustration. "Only one victor ever refused, and she paid the price."

"Johanna," I answer, and Haymitch nods. "That's why she wasn't afraid of the jabberjays. She had no one left." We're silent for a moment before I say, "That would have happened to me, wouldn't it?"

"And Peeta, too," Haymitch says. "Both of you would have made good money. Peeta probably would have given Finnick a run for his money, and you would definitely have been the most popular of the female victors."

The mere thought of someone other than Peeta touching me so intimately makes bile rise in my throat. A random Capitol stranger. My hands find my swelling stomach, horror skyrocketing within me at the thought that under different circumstances, had Peeta and I not been in love, the child within me would have been a stranger's.

"You and Peeta were lucky," Haymitch says, as if following my thoughts.

I nod, horror clogging my throat, preventing me from replying.

"Finnick is up there now," he continues. "Talking. Telling the Capitol all the secrets he's learned over the years. All of them involve the higher-ups of Snow's regime, but the most important—the ones that will grab the Capitol's attention—are about Snow himself."

Haymitch checks his watch, and then looks at me. "The propo should be airing about now," he says.

I nod, telling him that I want to watch it, and so Haymitch gets to his feet and turns on the television that hangs from the ceiling. Immediately, I see my mockingjay pin, it's golden flames filling the black screen. Music plays in the background for a few seconds, when suddenly Finnick's gorgeous face fills the screens. Though he's pale, determination shines brilliantly in his sea green orbs. The fierceness of his gaze immediately garners my attention, and I know that everyone in Panem is watching with equally rapt attention.

"President Snow used to . . . sell me . . . my body, that is," he begins in a flat tone. "I wasn't the only one. Any desirable victor shared the same fate. We could be bought for an egregious amount of money as a reward. Even passed around as a favor to someone. And as much as you want to, you can't refuse, because you know that if you do, someone you love will die."

"Like I said, I wasn't the only one, but I was the most popular," Finnick continues. "And perhaps the most defenseless, because the people I loved were so defenseless." _Annie_, I think. "To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but I found a much more valuable form of payment."

_Secrets_.

"Secrets," he says, echoing my thoughts. "And this is where you're going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let's begin with some of the others."

And then Finnick proceeds to weave such an elaborate tapestry of lies and deceit that no one can doubt its truth. I don't know any of the people's names, but I'm sure that they are important people in the Capitol community, otherwise Finnick would not be sharing them. I can understand why these people would divulge their secrets to him. Who would he tell? Who would believe him? Finnick was just a slave to them. A handsome one for sure, but still a harmless slave.

Not so harmless now.

Finnick goes on to talk about everything from incest to backstabbing to blackmail to arson. After fifteen minutes of talk about the officials, Finnick gets to the part that I, along with everyone else in Panem are waiting to hear, the part about President Snow.

"And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow," he says with a mirthless smile. "Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That's all you really need to know. _Poison_."

Finnick then proceeds to tell the tale of the President's political ascension, complete with mysterious deaths of both enemies, and worse, allies who had the potential to become threats. Some would drop dead at a feast with no explanation at all. Some would descend into the shadows, slowly succumbing to their fate. Deaths would be blamed on anything from bad shellfish to an elusive virus.

To deflect suspicion, Snow would drink from a poisoned goblet, though an antidote would always be on hand. However, the antidote isn't always effective. This explains why he always wears genetically enhanced roses in his lapel—to hide the stench of the blood. The stench of blood that reeks from his mouth, from bloody sores that will never heal . . . the secrets go on and on . . . Snow has a list and no one knows who will be next.

The perfect weapon for a snake. Poison.

Only a few minutes later, Finnick goes silent, having said all that he needs to. Finally, after seconds of silence, he is the one who says, "Cut."

The screen goes black.

"If they're not out of there by now, they're all dead," Haymitch says. "It's been an hour."

There's nothing for me to say to that, so I simply close my eyes, pretending to sleep. Maya snuggles closer to me, as if sensing that I need the extra comfort. My fingers tangle tighter in her fur, causing her to lick my face. I see it as her trying to make me feel better, and the thought would normally bring a smile to my face, but I'm just not capable at the moment.

Behind my closed eyelids, all I can see is Peeta. Sometimes he's as robust and healthy as he was during those months leading up to the Quell. Other times he's skinny and weak, as I saw him in the Capitol's propos. Sometimes he's grinning at me. Sometimes he's glaring, as if he blames me for what he's gone through.

I try to steer my thoughts toward memories, to the whispers that tickle my ears. A flailing Peeta as I spontaneously push him into the lake for his first impromptu swimming lesson. Lazy days spent inside his house accomplishing absolutely nothing and loving every minute of it. Adventures in the kitchen. His laughing face as he saw yet another of my failed attempts at baking. Sleepy blue eyes and an equally sleepy grin greeting me when I woke up in the morning.

The love that would follow . . .

I don't know how much time passes, but eventually the door opens, and Boggs steps into the room. Immediately, I sit up in the bed as quickly as I can nowadays. He's tired, looking barely able to stand on his feet, but there's a look in his eye—triumph.

I stare at him, tense and hardly breathing, waiting for him to make my world spin again by saying the words that I need to hear. Finally, his lips quirk up in a smile.

"We got him."

* * *

**And it's done! Technically, Peeta is officially back in this story. Woo! Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy ride! Prepare to enter the spectacular world of PTSD drama and all the tension it shall bring. Oh, yes. Be prepared. Although, I suppose you guys still have a chapter or two before we're really submerged in wonderful angsty glory.  
**

**So! Summary time: Katniss and Maya have a cuddle; Haymitch took a walk down memory lane; Rye and Gale are off being heroes; Boggs declares that, "Victory is MINE!"; Coin is off in her cave sulking; Finnick finally tried reality TV and has captivated audiences everywhere!; and Peeta has finally been voted off the Capitol Island!**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Peeta!  
**

**"Hi."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	11. Reunited

**A/N: Okay! Everyone, take a moment to see the Song Title for this chapter. Yep. You got it. REUNITED.  
**

**But don't get too excited. Because we all know that I'm a very cruel person. **

***cue evil laughter*  
**

**So, Peeta is physically present in this chapter. Excitement! That being said, I won't keep babbling!**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Me: PEETA IS BACK!**

******************************************Katniss: Yes!**

******************************************Rye: (fist pumps) Yeah, baby!**

******************************************Haymitch: It's pretty awesome.**

******************************************Maya: (barks)  
**

******************************************Peeta: PARTY!**

* * *

Chapter 11: Reunited

_Reunited and it feels so good._

* * *

I hate hospitals.

In my eyes, they are places full of pain and grief, rolling with despair. They smell horridly of antiseptic and reek with uniformity that causes me to crinkle my nose. And to top it all off, hospitals are filled with egregiously uncomfortable chairs.

I shift once more in my seat, causing Maya to look at me curiously. My fingers idly thread through her fur, comforting us both at the same time. Her head rests on top of my thigh, and she exhales loudly, sounding just as impatient as I am.

We've been waiting in the aptly named _waiting room _for hours. The moment Boggs uttered those wonderful words, _We got him,_ Haymitch and I with Maya in tow had practically bolted out the door. Well, bolted isn't really the best term. If I were still capable of bolting, I would have done so . . . but being five months along inhibits my speed sometimes. Instead, I merely got to my feet as quickly as I could with a helping hand from Haymitch. Maya hopped out of the bed eagerly, like she knew exactly what was happening, and began to prance around looking practically giddy. Together, all three of us followed Boggs to the hospital room.

Rye and Gale were already there. I could just see the white bandages peeking out of the neck of Gale's uniform. He assured me that he was fine, just some minor shrapnel. Rye was relatively unscathed, but the happiness in his eyes was somewhat shadowed by a haunted look that made my stomach tangle into knots.

I try to force my mind somewhere else, but my morbid curiosity forbids it. How bad is Peeta? How injured? How long will it take for him to recover? A week or more? A month or more? Years?

What will he be like? How does being tortured for more than a month change a person? All I can see in my mind's eye is the happy, strong Peeta that I've known for so long: a smart, analytical mind, able to see through others schemes, able to read people's motivations and ferret out ulterior motives—in essence, the epitome of a chess player. And yet within that brilliant mind is a heart of gold, so full of compassion and love. Gentle, caring hands capable of bringing to life the most beautiful picture. Passion that burns like fire. Fiercely protective of those that he loves.

That's what got him here in the first place, that damn protective streak. He led away the Capitol hovercraft to protect me and the baby. Brave. Protective and brave, that's who Peeta was at the simplest core of his being. It's what he's always done. Protect others in any way he could, whether it be dropping a little white lie to get a friend out of trouble, or taking a beating to save a dying girl in the rain.

I know that Peeta will not be the same person. What he's gone through . . . I shudder . . . yes, he will be a different person. Will I be able to handle this? It sounds selfish, but I'm wondering how much this will change my own life. For so long, Peeta was the one who was in control. He kept a level head when things got rough. He was my rock.

It looks like it's my time to return the favor.

But how will this affect my life? What will his recovery involve? Physical therapy? How many different medicines will they be pumping through his system? How many hours will I spend in the hospital at his bedside? And what about the baby? I can't push myself as hard as I once did. Dr. Riley would hunt me down and tie me to the bed, declaring that I be on bedrest the rest of my pregnancy to avoid stress. Stress. It's my arch nemesis. How am I supposed to avoid stress when the man that I love just returned to me, and yet I haven't seen him, haven't touched him? I haven't seen the state he's in, and have no clue how much of a turn my life is about to take.

Avoid stress. Ha.

I glance over to my right. Rye hasn't moved from my side since I arrived. He holds my free hand tightly in his. He keeps his blue eyes trained on the floor at his feet, staring with such intensity that I'm waiting for it to give way under the weight of his gaze. He hasn't said a word to me, and I haven't initiated any form of conversation. My throat feels far too thick.

Haymitch is to my left, and I believe that right now, my mentor has never wanted a drink more. Peeta is the son that he never had, just as I am the daughter, but there's something about Peeta that makes Haymitch even more protective of him than he is of me. I think it's simply because Peeta is so good. Inside and out, he is good. He's a light amidst the darkness that surrounds us all, and like moths to a flame, we gravitate toward him. It's part of the reason why Peeta is able to sway a crowd the way he does.

Finally, a doctor appears, looking completely worn out and in desperate need of sleep. A clipboard is grasped in his hand as he approaches us, and I can't help but notice the many sheets of paper secured to the square of cardboard. "Mellark family?"

"That's us," I say as I get to my feet. Maybe I should stay seated for the words that I know are about to come—the description of Peeta's physical state—but I don't want to appear any weaker and vulnerable than I already do. I can imagine what the doctor in front of me is seeing. A young, pregnant girl whose arms are wrapped around her distended stomach. Heavy, dark shadows under her red, puffy eyes, indicting many nights spend crying instead of sleeping. I know I don't look like I'm on top of things, but in this moment I've never felt more determined.

After so many nights of wondering how Peeta is, I'm finally going to know. As much as the notion terrifies me, it brings me more relief than anything. And so I stare at the doctor as calmly and as authoritatively as I can, waiting for him to begin speaking.

The doctor scans the chart in his hands. "Katniss Everdeen?"

"Mellark," I correct irritated. Seriously, everyone in District 13 should know this by now.

"Sorry," he apologizes, and he actually sounds sheepish, and so I forgive him. "Are you the only family?"

"No," Rye says as he stands. "I'm his brother."

"Everyone here is family," I say firmly when the doctor glances at Haymitch and Gale. "Everyone can hear what you have to say."

The doctor nods and takes a deep breath. "I'm Dr. Hodgins," he begins. "I will be in charge of Mr. Mellark's case."

I want to tell him to cut to the chase, but my mouth remains shut. I suspect it's because subconsciously, no matter how badly I want to know how Peeta is, at the same time I would like to remain blissfully ignorant of the exact injuries.

"Well, I'll start with the extremities and work my way in," he says and I gulp. _Start with, _indicating that there is much more to follow. "During his . . . captivity in the Capitol, Mr. Mellark sustained a variety of fractures, none of which have healed completely. His left arm is broken, and we've put it in a cast that he'll wear for about eight weeks. But frankly, it's his shoulders that I'm worried about." I swallow. "Both shoulders show multiple and frequent dislocations, most likely from—" The doctor pauses, uncertain whether he should divulge facts of Peeta's torture.

"Tell me." The words that escape my mouth belong to a voice that I don't recognize, but I know that it must be my own.

"Most likely from being suspended in the air with his hands tied behind his back," Dr. Hodgins explains, his eyes studying my reaction. I force myself to remain as blank as possible, but I don't think the effort is helped much by the green tint of my skin due to my nausea at the image in my mind.

But Dr. Hodgins continues, "As I said, I'm worried about his shoulders. The tendons and ligaments are not as tight as they used to be, and they will never get back to the way that they were. But, hopefully, with good physical therapy, the joints will heal and Mr. Mellark will have most if not all range of motion without pain."

"His ribs took the most damage," he begins, changing track. "Five are broken, one of which appears to have punctured a lung, but they fixed that neatly in the Capitol. Two of the five show bone remodeling, indicating a previous fracture . . . I'm assuming that they are from the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games?" he asks, looking at me, and I nod, remembering his twenty foot fall off the Cornucopia. "Two ribs are also cracked, but we've wrapped his torso good and tight, so as long as he doesn't try anything, they should heal nicely."

Dr. Hodgins takes a moment to glance over the chart once more. I hate that there are so many injures he can't remember them all off the top of his head. "Both wrists are fractured, most likely from shackles, if the bruising is anything to go by." My eyes are beginning to burn, but I force myself not to cry. "That's it for the bones," he says, as if this is a good thing, but then he continues on.

"Now, internally, Mr. Mellark's lungs are what we're watching out for," he explains. "His lungs show some damage, most likely from pneumonia, which indicates that he was kept in a rather cold and damp environment. There's some fluid in there that we're watching for, but that should clear within the next couple of days now that we're taking care of him. Also, his liver and spleen show some bruising, but that will heal without any need for surgery."

"Considering everything, Mr. Mellark should make a full recovery," Dr. Hodgins says, offering a bit of good news. "Superficially, I must add that Mr. Mellark has his fair share of lacerations, some of which have already scarred. But he's alive, Mrs. Mellark, and he's going to stay that way if I have anything to say about it."

I nod. "Good," I say. "Now . . . can I . . ." I swallow back more tears. "Can I see him?"

Dr. Hodgins hesitates, and I get the feeling that I'm not going to like what he's about to say. He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by none other than Dr. Riley. "I'll take it from here, Jack," she says with an air of authority that is not to be challenged. "I think we can both agree that I am more qualified." She turns to us and says, "It gets a little boring around here as an OB/GYN. I took up psychiatry to pass the time."

Dr. Hodgins nods his head respectfully, not even bothering to argue. "Of course, Maggie. I'll return to my patient." He turns to face us. "If you'll excuse me."

We're all silent for a moment before Dr. Riley turns to me, her long grey hair pulled up into her usual bun, and her silver-rimmed glasses threatening to slide off her nose. The laugh lines in her face are drawn in sadness as she looks at me sympathetically. She's pulled out her grandmother side for the situation.

"Why did he hesitate?" I ask sharply. "Why can't I see Peeta?"

"Katniss, sweetie," Dr. Riley sighs. "I know you want to see him, but we . . . we don't know what state he will be in when he wakes and sees you."

"What do you mean?" My voice has lost its bite. Does she mean that Peeta won't want to see me?

"I've been overseeing the case," she explains. "What Dr. Hodgins was about to explain to you was that aside from Peeta's various injuries, when we did some blood work, the results showed traces of tracker jacker venom."

"What?" Rye gasps. "They let those things loose on him?"

"No, I don't believe so," Dr. Riley patiently explains. "It appears that the venom was injected, like a shot."

Haymitch tenses and I frown. "What is it? What do you know?" I ask, beginning to grow hysterical. "What's happening?" I whisper tremulously as my eyes fill with tears.

"Hijacking?" Haymitch asks Dr. Riley, his voice devoid of all emotion.

"A failed attempt," she nods before looking at me. "Obviously, like I told you, he had something to fight for."

I almost manage a smile, but I have a more pressing question. "What does hijacking mean?"

"It's an experimental form of torture," Dr. Riley explains. "It was used some during the Dark Days, but the victims never survived, so we know very little about it. It's a type of fear conditioning. When you were stung in the arena, after you woke up did you feel unsure of what was real and what wasn't? Because of the hallucinations?" I nod. "Well, recall is made more difficult because memories can be changed. They can be brought to the forefront of your mind, altered, and saved again in the revised form. Now imagine that I ask you to remember something—either with a verbal suggestion or by making you watch a tape of the event—and while that experience is refreshed, I give you a dose of tracker jacker venom. Not enough to induce a three-day blackout. Just enough to infuse the memory with fear and doubt. And then that is what your brain puts in long-term storage."

Rye gaps in horror. "So you're saying that they tried to make my little brother afraid of Katniss?"

"So afraid that he would see her as life-threatening, maybe even try to kill her," Dr. Riley confirms.

"But you said that it was a failed attempt," I repeat, grasping onto the knowledge with all the strength I possess. "Peeta would never hurt me."

My mind instantly flashes back to a morning on the train on the Victory Tour. After my terrible nightmare of President Snow killing Peeta, I had run into Peeta's room and foolishly startled him from a nightmare in my haste to make sure that he was alive. Within a second, Peeta's hand had been around my throat, his body pinning me to the bed. Of course, it only took another second for him to snap out of it, but that didn't mollify Peeta in the slightest. The next morning I tried to convince him that no matter what, he would always snap out of it. He would never hurt me.

"_What if I don't snap out of it next time?" Peeta questions and I sigh._

"_You will always snap out of it."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_Because you love me."_

_Peeta's lips quirk up into a faint smile. "I do."_

"Yes," Dr. Riley agrees with a small smile. "He fought the venom. I believe that most likely, after each injection of tracker jacker venom had passed through his system, he was able to realize that the memories in his head were fake and he threw them away. I'm certain that since he had so many memories of you that the Capitol couldn't touch, memories that no one else but you two shared, he was able to keep a clear mind."

"So his mind is okay?" Rye asks hopefully, but Dr. Riley sighs and I feel the stirrings of hope in my chest vanish.

"He was tortured for more than month," Dr. Riley says bluntly. "His mind is far from okay." She returns her gaze to me. "That's not to say that he's a completely different person. The man you love is still there, but right now he's too hurt to be all that he once was. Katniss, there are repercussions to the kind of trauma Peeta received. Have you ever heard of PTSD? Post-traumatic stress disorder?"

I shake my head, and Dr. Riley sighs. "It's a type of anxiety disorder that typically follows someone who has experienced a traumatic event," she explains. "This isn't going to be easy for him Katniss. His wounds will heal, but I'm afraid his mind will take much longer."

"What's wrong?" I ask, but Dr. Riley shakes her head.

"There's not necessarily anything wrong," she says. "There's nothing that I can physically go in and fix. It's a psychological disorder . . . and I have a hunch that his case will be very bad."

"Because of the tracker jacker venom," Haymitch states more than asks, and Dr. Riley nods.

"Yes, I believe so," she says. "While the venom will leave his system in a few days, the effects, combined with what he has endured, I believe will be very detrimental to his symptoms, most specifically the flashbacks."

"Flashbacks?" Rye repeats worriedly.

"Yes, flashbacks." Dr. Riley purses her lips, as if deciding how best to explain all that she needs to. "Flashbacks are when the victim relives the event over and over. They can last seconds and then again they can last minutes. The flashbacks themselves can be triggered by anything. Anything that could remind him of something involving his torture. Running water, for example, may cause a flash back, since his lungs show evidence of water torture. Sudden noises, especially metallic. Any number of things could trigger a flashback, and sadly we'll just have to wait and see what his triggers are, bit by bit."

"What are the other symptoms?" I ask tremulously.

"Nightmares, of course," Dr. Riley answers. "Emotionally, Peeta may be extremely distant or be so consumed with emotion that he lashes out, whether in anger or tears. He may avoid people, show less of his moods. He may be very detached from it all and show no interest in normal activity. He may also be hyper vigilant and startle easily. Insomnia is also a possible symptom."

"But, from what I know about Peeta, I'm anticipating more emotion, since it's such an inherent part of who he is," Dr. Riley continues. "That being said, that's also why I'm more worried. Flashbacks are riveting. They'll hold him in their grasp until he snaps out of it. He may believe that it's real and try to protect himself from whoever is in the room. While it may be a friend, all he will see is someone who will try to hurt him."

"And so he'll hurt them first," Haymitch says, and Dr. Riley nods.

"Also, random outbursts of irritation and anger are common. Say something simple, like tying a knot, causes him to become frustrated. Instead of taking a deep breath and trying again, like he normally would, instead he'll—"

"Turn into a giant rage monster?" Rye finishes and Dr. Riley purses her lips.

"Yes," she replies crisply before turning to me. "Now, with that being said, I don't think that it's safe—"

"Don't tell me that I can't see him," I cut her off sharply, my battle with my tears ceasing as I focus all my energy on a new battle. "I will see him. I will be there for him every step of the way. He wouldn't let any of this scare him off it were me."

"But it's not you," Dr. Riley replies gently. "You've got someone else to think about. What if Peeta gets caught up in a flashback while you are in the room? What if he attacks you? What if he hurts you and the baby?"

"Peeta would never hurt me," I growl. "I don't care if he's not in his right mind. He would never hurt me."

"Are you willing to take the risk?" Dr. Riley retorts. "Katniss, be reasonable. I'm not saying that you can't see him. I'm just saying that you should be careful. Try not to be alone with him, and if you are, and he begins to have a flashback, you bolt for that door and lock it behind you. You call in a medical team, and they will take care of him, okay? Not you."

I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to curse. I hate her logic. Even more so, I hate that her logic is right. The baby. Always about the baby. I have to protect the baby, even from its own father. "Fine."

"Is he awake?" Rye asks tentatively.

"Last I checked, no," Dr. Riley says. "But you're welcome to sit with him."

I'm about to protest, but Dr. Riley backs up her words. "Let's see how he deals with Rye first," she says. "He is his brother, and the Capitol didn't try to make him so scared of Rye that he would want to kill him."

I hated to admit that she had a point.

"But there is an observation window available," Dr. Riley adds, which causes my heart to stumble for a few beats before picking up speed at a rapid rate. "You can see him with your own eyes."

"Lead the way, Doc," Haymitch says, seeming to realize that I'm incapable of speech.

Dr. Riley leads us through the winding halls of the hospital until she stops in the middle of one of the many identical, bland grey hallways. Two doors face me on the right, and I wonder if I would be able to dart forward, somehow manage to win the 50/50 chance at picking the right door, and see Peeta before anyone would be able to stop me. But by the way Gale and Haymitch are on either side of me, tense and ready, almost as if they're just waiting for me to try, I know that my little coup is pointless.

"This way, Rye," Dr. Riley says quietly, leading him slightly ahead of us and opening the door. The door opens outward, and so I'm unable to see anything inside Peeta's room. Rye pauses for a moment before stepping over the threshold, closing the door behind him.

Dr. Riley turns to us. "You can see him from in there," she says. "It's one-way glass, so you can see him but he can't see you." She pauses to look at me. "I know that you know of all his injuries, but let me tell you this. Almost half of his injuries are defensive wounds, Katniss. He fought back when he could, and judging by the slight fracturing in his knuckles, he has a pretty wicked right cross."

Unbelievably, my lips twitch upward in a ghost of a smile.

And then Dr. Riley turns on her heel and leaves, the soft _click, click_ of her shoes echoing down the hallway. With a trembling hand, I reach out and twist the door knob, opening the door. Maya immediately trots into the new space, sniffing the surroundings before turning to me, waiting for me to join her.

I take a step into the room, keeping my eyes trained on Maya. Oddly, I'm terrified of actually seeing Peeta. Only moments ago, I was filled with a desperate need to see him, but now that I have the chance, I'm petrified of what I will see. All I can hear is Dr. Hodgins' recount of Peeta's injuries. Shoulders in need of physical therapy. A broken arm. Both wrists broken as well. Five busted ribs, two more cracked. Damaged lungs. Bruised spleen and liver. Multiple lacerations.

Will he even look like the man I remember?

I can sense Haymitch and Gale behind me, and I know that they're looking through the glass, looking at Peeta. Jealously flares within me, that they have seen him before I have, but at the same time I'm frustrated with myself because it's my own damn fault anyway. Suddenly, my gaze is broken when Maya huffs at me, and I swear she's looking at me in a, "Well what are you waiting for?" kind of way.

Gathering my courage, I turn toward the glass as my arms wrap around my stomach. I find a spot on the wall in Peeta's room and stare at it as I take three steps toward the glass until I'm inches away from the clear barrier. I feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I slowly follow the wires from the IV to the floor and then back up toward the bed.

And then I see his hand. My breathing quickens as I allow my eyes to follow his hand up his arm, which is wrapped in a plain white cast. I ignore the pang in my heart and allow my eyes to continue their travels. I see his black and blue shoulders, visible due to his shirtless state. I avoid continuing up and seeing his neck and then his face. I'm not ready for that just yet. Instead, my eyes travel downward to his chest. It is not the broad, strong chest that I remember. Since his ribs are wrapped up tightly in stark white tape, I can only see a few fresh bruises and still-red lacerations. An ugly pink scar about six inches in length is visible on his collarbone, stretching downward at a slight diagonal to his left pectoral.

I can't see any of his lower half, since it is covered by the hospital blankets.

With nothing left to divert my gaze, I force my eyes upward until I finally see him. The face of my dreams and yet not. I know his blonde curls are freshly washed, but they still appear dirty to me. Maybe it's because their golden color doesn't seem to shine like I remember it. His complexion is pale, lacking the sun-kissed glow he always seems to radiate no matter what season. His cheeks are sunken. His lips are cracked. A yellowing bruise colors his right temple, curving along his cheekbone.

He looks terrible.

But tears of joy are still sliding down my cheeks. Unthinkingly, my hand finds the glass in front of me. I want to touch him. I want to hear his voice. I want to feel his arms around me. I want to feel his lips on mine.

I've barely given a thought to Rye, who has taken a seat in the chair at Peeta's bedside. I glare jealously at my brother in-law when he takes Peeta's hand that's free of IVs. Rye's mouth begins to move, talking to Peeta, but his voice is so low that I can't hear him. Or maybe the glass is soundproof?

Suddenly, Peeta twitches on the bed, causing everyone to stiffen. My eyes find his heart monitor, which has sped up. He's waking up. I know he is. He's waking up, and I'm not there.

I don't think about my actions. I hardly realize that I'm already out the door of the observation lounge and yanking open the door to Peeta's room. I don't see Rye staring at me in surprise and shock. I don't see anything other than my favorite pair of blue eyes staring right back at me.

For a second, time freezes. In this one second, Peeta and I communicate every single thought and emotion we've been saving for this very moment. I see his relief, his joy, his surprise, his shock. His eyes shine with tears as he sees my stomach, and it hits me that the last time he saw me, I wasn't showing at all. I try to send him all the love I can, all the blinding joy that I currently feel.

And then time resumes and I suddenly find myself right beside him. Peeta has sat up in the bed, and though I know that he really shouldn't be moving at all, I can't help but feel reassured at the sight. Deep down, he's still as strong as ever.

I want to tell him so much. I want to tell him that I love him. I want to tell him that I never gave up on him. I want to beg him to forgive me for putting him through this. I want to tell him how much I missed him. I want to tell him how my entire body has ached for him every day. I want to tell him everything about the baby. I want to tell him how far along I am. I want to tell him that I've heard our baby's heartbeat. I want to tell him that I've seen our baby's image.

I want to say all of that, and yet all I can manage is, "Hi."

Peeta's hand reaches up to cradle my face, and it's only then that I realize that I'm crying and so is he. "Hi."

And then my lips meet his.

* * *

**AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHH!**

**PEETA IS BACK! YES, HE'S BACK! YEAH, HE'S BACK.**

**Everyone, let us take this grand moment to celebrate this awesomeness.**

**Okay! So, like it? Peeta isn't hijacked! However, do not let that fact lull you into a false sense of security. This is me, we're talking about. Since when have I ever made anything easy on these two? We're about to enter a whole new world of drama and darkness. PTSD to the max, guys. The following chapters, at least until chapter 20, will definitely earn this T rating. Definitely, definitely.**

**So, buckle up! It's gonna be a bumpy ride as I've said before. So, enjoy the sweet moment at the end of this chapter. It's going to be the last one you'll get for a while.**

**I know, I know . . . I'm cruel.**

**And now that I've run out of things to say, it's summary time: Katniss and the gang have been drafted into a Grey's Anatomy/Bones crossover (Go Hodgins!); Rye is sad; Katniss is happy; Haymitch wants a drink; Gale secretly wishes that elves are real; Coin is nowhere to be found; and PEETA IS BACK! But not in black . . .  
**

**Not that it really matters, because AC/DC is still awesome.**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Katniss!  
**

**"He's not crazy!"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	12. Dream A Little Dream Of Me

**A/N: Hello, my lovlies! Thank you, thank you for all the glorious reviews! Reviews! GLORIOUS REVIEWS!  
**

**I love you guys. I really do.**

**So, I'm glad that all of you guys are glad that Peeta isn't hijacked. I never planned on doing that to him, because frankly, I think the idea of 'hijacking' is ridiculous. If Collins wanted to take Peeta out of the picture with something freaky, just give him a case of PTSD. It's practically the same thing anyway. Hijacking just doesn't make sense to me. The basic idea is that it's a fear conditioning that makes Peeta so afraid of Katniss that he will try to attack her before she can hurt him.**

**Let's think about this in a different situation: You're walking along in the woods. It's a lovely day. Suddenly, you look up and there's a HUGE GRIZZLY BEAR. You have a brief stare down. You're absolutely petrified of this bear. That being said, why in THE HELL would you run TOWARD this bear and try to KILL it before it kills you? No. No, no, no. If you're that scared, you will run away, screaming. Or if you're Collins version of Peeta, hide in a corner and rock back and forth.**

**That sounds harsh, but it's honestly what annoyed me most about the entire 3rd book.**

**Okay, and now that I ranted, let's actually get to this chapter! I think you guys will like it but be disappointed with the lack of Peeta (a conscious one, anyway). I'm trying to be medically accurate with this story, so Peeta isn't going to be up and about anytime soon (unless he has a wonderful adrenaline rush). So, bear that in mind. However, I would see this chapter as the "calm before the storm." Because let's just say the majority of the rest of the story is a hurricane.**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Peeta: Why am I sleeping? Seriously, I get one kiss. ONE. You give me one line last chapter. ONE. What's with this?**

******************************************Katniss: Yeah! Why are you forcing me to talk to myself?**

******************************************Me: This coming from the girl who was hearing voices in her head . . . **

******************************************Katniss: You made me do it!**

******************************************Rye: Hey! Hey, AC! Hey!**

******************************************Me: What?**

******************************************Rye: Can I have ice cream?**

******************************************Me: Yeah . . . no.**

******************************************Haymitch: You _will_ get me alcohol.**

******************************************Me: Nope. You're sober, dude.**

******************************************Haymitch: *hangs head* Damn it.**

* * *

Chapter 12: Dream A Little Dream Of Me

_Sweet dreams, till sunbeams find you_

_Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you  
_

_But in your dreams, whatever they be  
_

_Dream a little dream of me  
_

* * *

"I missed you so much."

Peeta doesn't respond, but I don't mind. He needs his rest, and I'm happy to talk to his sleeping form. Our reunion took every ounce of strength he'd gained back in the short time he'd been in the care of District 13. The kiss we shared was the most intense, emotion-filled experience of my life, and it only lasted a few seconds.

We were forced to break apart when the doctors rushed in to assess Peeta's condition, and I was told to exit the room. I didn't want to go. Peeta didn't want me to go. But all it took for me to leave was the pain reflected in his eyes; the pain from his rapid movement, the fire lighting his broken ribcage, the sharp stinging ache in his shoulders, the crunching pain in his wrists, his bruised abdomen, the torn-open wounds scattered across his skin quickly dying their white bandages red. As much as I hated it, I knew that I could not take away his pain. Only the doctors had that power.

And so Maya, Rye, and I returned to the observation lounge, silently looking on with Haymitch and Gale as the doctors ran all sorts of tests. I was relieved to see Dr. Riley in the room, talking to Peeta, explaining things to him. It took maybe an hour before the doctors allowed me back into the room. They started to put up a fuss about Maya accompanying me, but Dr. Riley swayed them with her intellectual prowess, saying something about animals being of great help to PTSD patients. Honestly, Dr. Riley is just as capable as Haymitch of making everyone around her feel like an idiot.

Gale left soon after I was allowed back into the room, saying something about going down to Special Defense to work on a project with Beetee. If he had mentioned it at any other time, I would have been mildly curious. What could Gale and Beetee be up to? However, all my attention is on Peeta. I can't leave him. The idea of leaving him even for a minute is abhorrent. I'm terrified of even blinking, afraid that the moment I close my eyes he'll vanish and once again I will be alone.

"You've got four months to get better, you hear me?" I tell him softly, even though I know his recovery will take much longer, mentally at least. "I need you, Peeta."

Peeta's only response is the continuing rise and fall of his chest, which is perfectly okay with me. It means that he's alive. I clutch his free hand in both of mine, bringing it to my lips. "I love you so much," I tell him. "I'll never let you go a day without hearing it."

It was one of my biggest regrets. Before Peeta left to lead the Capitol hovercraft away from me, he told me that he loved me. I know that he knew that I loved him back. I know that he could see it in my eyes. I know that he knew.

But I still didn't say it back.

Granted, my mind was on the brink of unconsciousness due to blood loss, and I was on emotion-overload as the earth exploded around us. But I still wish that I had told him I loved him before he ran. I wish that those were the last words he heard from me.

But there's no way to change the past. I've definitely learned that much in my years on this earth. Past is past, and there's no going back. All we have control over is the moment that we're in, and that, by extension, can coalesce into our future.

What is in my future? I sigh, closing my eyes and resting my forehead on Peeta's hand that's still clutched in my own. Where do we go from here? I'm still the symbol of a rebel nation, and I don't doubt that Coin will try to use Peeta's rescue in some way to her benefit. I'll have to see what Haymitch thinks. Will Coin try to make herself into a savior? The woman who had the audacity to rescue Snow's most prized weapon right from under his nose; the woman responsible for reuniting the Mockingjays. Something tells me the shaky ground I'm already treading will soon crumble if I'm not careful.

And then what about Peeta's recovery? Anxiety slithers through my stomach like a snake coiling to strike. My eyes open to study Peeta's prone form in front of me. Without my consent, my fingers loosen their grasp on Peeta's hand, choosing instead to trail along his good arm. They pause at a pale pink scar near his elbow. It's just a little pink dot, seemingly insignificant, but I know that it was made from copious injections of tracker jacker venom. My fingers continue their journey, gliding over his bicep that I remember being much bigger. Along his shoulders, I trace the bruises that decorate them, the colors ranging from yellow to green to blue to purple to nearly black. I trace every scar that I see, not bothering to wipe away the tears leaking from my eyes. I let them fall, creating little grey dots against the white bed sheets.

Looking at his wounds, the ones that are visible to me at least, I can't control my wild, morbid imagination. My mind fills with tortuous images as I wonder exactly how Peeta received every single scar. I wonder if his captors were in any way merciful. I wonder if Snow was present during these sessions. I wonder if he smiled that gruesome grin that makes my skin crawl with revulsion.

My mind drifts to Dr. Riley's diagnosis—Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Will Peeta really be like she suspects once he's able to move around? Or will it start before? My eyes observe Peeta's face, relaxed in sleep. Could he really become so absorbed in a flashback that he would attack me? Will he be moody and quick to anger? Will he be frustrated and irritated at the slightest notion? Will he fear seemingly random, insignificant objects or actions because they are in some way associated with a memory so frightening that I can't begin to truly understand? How many nights will sleep elude him?

Will he be the same young man I remember?

No. No, the Peeta I knew is gone forever.

What will we become? I know that he still loves me, and I definitely know that I still love him. But he's not the same. I'm not the same. It's almost as though we're strangers. I don't understand this Peeta so completely that I know him better than I know myself. This Peeta has been through horrors beyond my comprehension. No matter how hard I try, I know that I will never be able to understand what he went through. I hate it, but I know that there will be some parts of Peeta's recovery that he'll have to face completely on his own.

And what about the baby? Even though Peeta is now with me, will I still be going through this alone? Peeta has his own problems, greater than I think anyone believes. Peeta will have his own struggles, his own inner battles to face. Will he be able to be a part of the pregnancy like I know he would like to be? Or will his inner demons consume him like the doctors fear?

So much is unknown. I realize that I can't truly know how the next few months will reveal themselves until Peeta is awake and recovering fully. So much is shrouded in darkness at this moment. The future is hazy with gloom, the past glazed with despair. The present, so far, appears bleak at best.

And yet there's still hope.

I can't give up on Peeta. I can't give up on myself. On anyone or anything. It's my turn to take a page out of Peeta's book. It's my turn to be the strong one, to hope for something better. It's simply my turn to believe that there is some good left in this world.

The weight of yet another responsibility causes my shoulders to sag. So much seems to rest on my shoulders these days, the rebellion and Peeta's recovery being at the top of the short list. How can I do this? How can I burn brighter for the rebellion, all the while watching for any hint of betrayal from Coin? It would be difficult if it were just me I had to worry about. It's nearly unachievable because I'm pregnant, and now it seems insurmountable due to Peeta's return.

Funny, I actually thought things would get easier when Peeta came back to me.

Despite it all, a wry smile twitches my lips, a dry laugh escaping me. "Damn it, Peeta." I shake my head, looking at his sleeping face balefully. "You were supposed to make everything better. Guess I really expect a lot out of you, huh?"

In my head, I hear what I know would be his response. "Tell me something I don't know," he would complain, and then he'd give me his most charming grin as I swatted his arm.

The hours stretch on, and I constantly squirm in the uncomfortable hospital chair, trying vainly to find a comfortable position that remains comfortable for more than ten minutes. Maya lies at my feet, her breathing deep in sleep, though her ears will still twitch every second the chair legs scrap against the floor due to my fidgeting.

I know that I should be sleeping, but I simply can't take my eyes off of Peeta. A part of me is still afraid that he'll vanish the second I look away, and so my eyes never leave him. There's also a strange part of me that thinks by staying awake, I'm in a way introducing the baby to its father. That by studying his features, memorizing them once again, somehow the baby is too.

When the clock shows that it's four in the morning, I feel my eyelids begin to droop without my consent. I've gone twenty-four hours without sleep before, but being pregnant changes a lot of things. I need my sleep, and I love a nice nap during the day. But I refuse to leave Peeta, even if it's by slipping into unconsciousness. Logic tells me that what I want is impossible. Eventually, for some reason or another, I will be required to leave Peeta's side. Whether it be doctor's orders, or more than likely Rye or Haymitch's. I will not be surprised to see Haymitch walk through the door in another hour or so. Some instinct tells me Rye will not be far behind.

I wonder about the other rescued victors—Johanna and Annie. Enobaria was not in her cell, and recent intelligence suggests that she died in interrogation. Even being a victor from District 2 couldn't save you in this war.

I don't have a clue about Johanna or Annie's conditions. I should ask when I have the opportunity. I need to see them, especially Johanna. Even if I'm terrified of the condition I will find her in, I still need to see her. I need to know that she's still fighting.

And I can't deny that I want to meet Annie Cresta, the mad woman who managed to steal Finnick's heart and save his life. I know that they're together now, somewhere in this hospital. Finnick is sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair, just as I am, watching over Annie just as I am watching over Peeta.

Suddenly, Maya begins to whine. She swiftly gets to her feet and raises up on her hind legs so that her front paws rest on the side of Peeta's bed. A worried whine continues to escape her, and all traces of sleepiness vanish as my suddenly sharp eyes examine Peeta for any sign of distress.

At first, I don't see anything . . . and then Peeta's hand twitches. I think he's waking up, and a flutter of excitement lifts my spirits. Until Peeta's face contorts, though his eyes remained closed. His muscles tense beneath my fingertips. His eyes move rapidly under their lids. His fist clenches.

And then a low groan escapes his lips, a terrible harmony of pain and terror, and I realize what is happening: Peeta is having a nightmare.

My heartbeat immediately speeds up, mimicking the heart monitor in the room. I get to my feet, absently pushing Maya out of my way, though she merely props her front paws on the bed once more a second later. "Ssh," I try to soothe him, brushing a stray curl out of his face. "Peeta, it's okay. You're safe. You're okay." My words, meant to comfort, seem to have the opposite effect. Peeta's movements begin to gain more momentum, close to thrashing, and I'm afraid of the damage the quick movements might exacerbate his already serious injuries. Maya's whining increases in intensity, adding a tense music to the air.

"Peeta, it's okay," I plead with him, but my words seem to have no effect. His thrashing continues; mumbled, incoherent words slipping from his lips, and while I cannot understand the exact words, I can clearly hear the pain in them. "Please, Peeta," I nearly beg as my eyes fill with tears. "You're safe. I promise."

The machines in the room begin to beep with a frantic note, and I know that the doctors are just moments from bursting through the door. That can't happen. I'll have to leave, and I refuse to leave his side. And so I do the only thing that I can think to do, the one thing that Peeta seemed to deem nearly divine.

I sing.

_Stars shining bright above you_

_Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you."_

_Birds singing in the sycamore tree_

_Dream a little dream of me_

Amazingly, at the sound of my song, Peeta's movements slowly become more sluggish, as though he's being weighed down by the notes of my song. A small smile quirks my lips as I continue to sing, caressing his face as I continue to try to soothe his nightmare.

_Say, "Nightie night," and kiss me_

_Just hold me tight, and tell me you missed me_

_While I'm alone and blue as can be_

_Dream a little dream of me_

The rapid beeping of the medical equipment slows. Peeta's breaths begin to even out, and I gently unclench his fist. The contortions in his face soften as he relaxes, but I can still feel the quick beat of his heart. So I sing another verse.

_Stars fading but I linger on dear_

_Still craving your kiss_

_Now I'm longing to linger till dawn dear_

_Just saying this_

Calm has swept over Peeta, and I can't help but feel a hint of pride that I've managed to assuage his fears. I take his hand, clasping it in my own, and finish the song.

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_

_Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you_

_But in your dreams whatever they be_

_Dream a little dream of me_

Silence echoes through the still room the moment the last note ends, but I find the lack of sound soothing—peaceful. Maya has calmed and resumed her place at my feet, confident that the tension has passed. I take my place in my chair, grimacing at the uncomfortably hard plastic, but I refuse to let the pitiful excuse for a chair ruin my uplifted mood. I just learned of a way I can help Peeta. Singing. It soothes him, just as it always has.

The silence is broken when I hear the door open. I look up, expecting to see a disgruntled, frustrated Haymitch ready to gruffly order me to sleep to hide the fact that he genuinely cares, but instead I see someone who I naively didn't expect to see.

My mother.

We've barely spoken at all since our last fight, when she basically said that she thought Peeta was dead. She had given up on Peeta, and the idea was so preposterous that a whirlwind of anger swirled within me at the thought. Even more so, I felt a sense of betrayal. My mother had given up on Peeta, such an integral part of my life. It was almost as though she'd given up on me, too.

So, safe to say, I'm not too thrilled that she's here.

"Katniss," my mother acknowledges quietly. She gestures to a clipboard. "I'm just here to take his vitals."

"I didn't know you were assigned to his case," I say with more accusation and suspicion in my tone than I expected.

"I asked," she replies mildly as she examines the equipment surrounding Peeta's bed, writing down notes on her clipboard. "There was a spike in his heart rate a few minutes ago," she notes.

"He was having a nightmare," I reply, and I see my mother's shoulders tense. "I calmed him down," I add with an edge in my voice, subtly warning her not to say what I know she wants to.

Should have known she would ignore me.

"You should have called the doctors," my mother chastises. "He might have woken up."

"But he didn't."

"He might next time."

"So what?" I challenge. "So what if he wakes up? I can calm him down when he's awake just as easily." Even as the words leave my mouth, I know that they're not true, but I refuse to give my mother any solid ground.

"You know that's not true, Katniss," my mother says, sounding angry. "Peeta isn't of a healthy mind—"

"He's not crazy!"

"He might wake up from a nightmare and not realize it. He might try to hurt you—"

"—he'd never hurt me—"

"—and if he hurt you, he might harm the baby."

"Don't you dare bring the baby into this!" I get to my feet so I can face my mother, mere inches between our faces. "You have no faith in Peeta. You have no idea how strong he is because you never really got to know him this entire year he's been in my life. Why is it so difficult to believe that he can recover? Why is it so difficult to believe that I might be able to soothe his nightmares? Why is it so damn difficult for you to believe in anything?!" I know that I need to lower my voice, but I've kept these words locked up for too long. "You know, I understand that your heart broke when dad died—"

My mother's face morphs into the first true expression of anger I've ever seen. "How could you possibly understand—"

"Because I've been there, mom!" I hiss, trying to keep my voice low. I don't want to wake Peeta. "I know exactly what it feels like to know that the one person you love most in this world is gone. Peeta died, mom. For five minutes he was dead. It's only because of Finnick that Peeta is here in the first place! So, yes, mom, I know _exactly_ how you feel." I take a deep, angry breath. "And I am sick and tired of you thinking that I'm just some lovestruck teenage girl who doesn't have a clue what love really is. I would even say that I have a better clue than you do." Hurt registers on my mother's face, but I'm too angry to notice. "Peeta is going to recover. Yes, it will be painful, in more ways than I or anyone else knows, but I'm going to be with him every single step and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Yes, it may be dangerous, but I'm not an idiot. I will not put myself and the baby at risk. Do you really think I'd stay in the room if Peeta went into a rage? Do you really think I'd stay, possibly get hurt, and then have Peeta come to his senses and realize what he had done? How could you think I'd let him experience that kind of guilt?"

There's a tense moment as I wait for my mother to speak. I watch as she opens her mouth only to shut it again. "I am a grown woman," I tell her bluntly. "I may not know what all is to come, but I do know that I will help Peeta in any way that I can."

"I'm only trying to help," my mother says softly, tears in her voice.

"You're trying to be a mother," I retort coldly. "The problem is that you stopped being my mother years ago. You can't go back and change the past. You can't even begin to make up for it. The only thing you can do is try to be better today than you were yesterday."

"I love Peeta," I tell her. "Just like I know dad loved you. You can't look me in the eye and tell me that if it was dad lying here on this bed, and you were in my position, that you wouldn't do all in your power to help him."

"No," my mother agrees.

"Then stop trying to keep me from doing what we both know is best for Peeta. I love him. I'm going to help him through this, no matter what. We'll be family, and it's time you accepted that."

"You don't need me," she says numbly.

"No," I reply. "I don't."

And just like that, our bond as mother and daughter severed, never to be whole again.

* * *

**Yep. Frankly, I think that scene was about due! Mrs. Everdeen is just . . . annoying. That's putting it nicely.**

**So, Peeta is conscious next chapter! And we have both a real Peeta and a dream Peeta! Fun times, fun times. . .**

**Summary time: Peeta is in Dreamland thinking of ponies; Katniss and her Mom have agreed to go on Jerry Springer; Gale is somewhere moping; Rye wants ice cream; Haymitch really needs a drink; and Johanna is somewhere over the rainbow; Finnick and Annie are somewhere in the hospital playing twister and . . . yeah . . . I'm out of ideas, guys.**

**Quote for the next chapter comes from . . . Johanna!  
**

**"You're so fat it's obscene."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC  
**


	13. Yesterday

**A/N: And here we are again! **

**And this chapter is when everything becomes so disastrously angsty, impeccably depressing, and gloriously dramatic. Prepare yourselves. The rest of this story will definitely earn it's T rating for language, dark themes, and some sexual situations. I will give warnings for things like language and give you a head's up for steaminess . . . but that particular head's up won't come for a while.**

**First we have to get through some lovely PTSD. Oh, the wonderful drama that shall spawn. For those of you who want a quick fix and fluff, sorry guys. Believe me, I want that too. But we've got to be realistic. Fluff and PTSD and torture don't go together.**

**Oh, and start paying attention to the song titles for the chapters. They will definitely give you a hint as to how the chapter is going to go. Most, if not all, will pertain to Peeta. Including this one.**

**WARNING: This chapter _does_ contain some explicit language, courtesy of one Johanna Mason. Just a warning if you don't like f-bombs.**

**And I guess that's that . . . so . . . (summons best Joker voice) . . . AND HERE WE GO!**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Johanna: This is ridiculous.**

******************************************Me: Not really.**

******************************************Johanna: Why must you be so cruel? Seriously. This sucks.**

******************************************Me: I know.**

******************************************Katniss: I mean, we've already been through so much.**

******************************************Peeta: Yeah. Especially me. Hello! Tortured for months! This guy right here.**

******************************************Me: Yep.**

******************************************Rye: I think you like making us miserable.**

******************************************Me: Yes. But I like seeing you struggle only to come out stronger for it. Trust me. The ends justify the means in this case.**

******************************************Haymitch: Whatever. You still don't have a soul.**

* * *

Chapter 13: Yesterday

_Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be_

_There's a shadow hanging over me  
_

_Oh, yesterday came suddenly  
_

* * *

After my mother leaves the room, I slump down tiredly into the chair by Peeta's bedside. I sigh deeply, closing my eyes. Almost immediately, I regret the action as my heavy lids refuse to open after a few seconds of respite. I need to sleep, and at the rate I'm going, I'll probably conk out for at least ten hours, maybe more when I finally succumb to my fatigue. And yet, like the masochist I am, I simply cannot allow myself that rest. Because it would be ten or more hours away from Peeta.

I can't leave him. Not again.

When Haymitch enters the room two hours later, I'm barely able to keep my eyes open. "At this rate, you're going to be looking as shitty as Peeta," he says dryly. I don't even acknowledge his comment, keeping my eyes trained on Peeta's face. "Come on, sweetheart." Haymitch walks around the bed until he's standing beside me. He offers his hand. "You need to sleep just as much as he does."

"I can't leave him." My tired voice cracks. "I can't."

Haymitch sighs. "He's not going anywhere, sweetheart. In fact, according to Dr. Riley, the drugs they have him on will keep him asleep for the rest of today. Something about healing and sleep or something like that. He's not going to know you're gone."

"That doesn't matter," I argue. "I have to stay."

"No, you have to sleep. Think about the kid. You can't push yourself this hard anymore, Katniss."

I bite my tongue in anger. Why is the baby everyone's trump card in getting me to do what they want? The fact that they're always right frustrates me even more. For a moment, blinding resentment flows through me. If I weren't pregnant I could stay by Peeta's side as long as I wanted. If I weren't pregnant people wouldn't always be hovering over me, making sure that I took care of myself. If I weren't pregnant this entire situation would be easier.

But I am pregnant. I do need to take care of myself, and I know that the only way this situation would be easier is if it didn't exist in the first place. With a sigh, I admit, "You're right." I meet Haymitch's eyes. "It's just . . . I'm scared, Haymitch. I'm scared to leave him."

"I'll stay with him," Haymitch says as he holds out his hand again, waiting for me to take it.

"Promise?" I ask as he pulls me to my feet.

"Promise."

I nod tiredly, my shoulders sagging in fatigue and defeat. "I'll be back later," I tell him needlessly.

"I don't want to see you back here before supper," he orders in a paternal tone. "Seriously, Katniss. Get some sleep. You're no use to Peeta or the kid if you can't keep your eyes open."

"I know." I sigh before looking down at Maya. "Let's go, girl."

Immediately, Maya scrambles to her feet and follows me out the door. The hallway is completely barren with the exception of a nurse quietly shutting the door to another room. As I'm walking by, I just manage to glance into the room; lying on the bed, looking smaller than ever, is Johanna. I have to force myself not to barge past the nurse and into the room to see my friend. Johanna will be here when I get back. I can see her then.

Maybe she'll be able to help me with Peeta.

When I finally reach my new compartment—I'm impressed I even remembered the room number in my sleep-deprived state—it's not until I'm lying tucked under the sheets that I realize how tired I am. Exhaustion rests heavily in my bones, and I can't fathom moving anytime soon. Without my permission, my lids close, and my last coherent thought before sleep takes me is that for the first time since the arena, a flicker of happiness lightens my heart.

_Four grey walls enclose me. A hard floor of blood-spattered stone rests beneath me. A single light dangles from the ceiling, swaying in a nonexistent breeze. It's cold. It's damp. My body aches with every movement. My ribs are ablaze with a fiery pain that eclipses anything I've ever felt. Needles puncture my lungs. I'm unable to take a full breath. _

_I hardly notice the ache in my shoulders anymore. The dull throb is easily ignored now. I shift slightly, trying to find a position that is less painful, but with every twitch of movement, white-hot pain burns my chest. I try to take a deep breath, but it catches in my throat. I cough violently and hear something snap. Rib number three._

_A second later I feel the pain: sharp, intense, and blinding. I gasp, struggling for the breath that the pain is taking from me. A slow tremble begins to overcome me. My aching muscles protest. I cough again and taste the metallic bouquet of blood on my tongue. Punctured lung._

_Maybe this time they'll finally let me die._

_Suddenly, the door to my mausoleum opens. Standing in the doorway with the bright light of the hallway shining behind him, Peeta looks like a divine being. His hair is the shiny, golden blonde that I remember. The strength in his chest and arms has returned. A soft, sun-kissed glow radiates from his skin once more, filling me with warmth. Peeta's okay. He's fine. It's as though he never suffered._

_And that's when I notice the scars. _

_They mar his torso and arms. Some are long and precise, cut by a cold, methodical hand. Some are jagged and gruesome, a sign of frustration and anger. Some patches of skin are puckered with burns. My eyes traverse his network of scars. I force myself to examine every single one. Like a punishment._

_I did this._

"_Stop that," Peeta orders softly. He walks into the room, unaffected by the gore that covers the walls and floor, until he kneels right in front of me. I immediately look away from him, unable to look him in the eye. I can't bear to see the blame I know will be waiting to torture me further. "Katniss." My eyes close as his voice caresses my name. I don't deserve that. It must be a trick. "Katniss. Come on, beautiful, look at me."_

_A tear escapes me at the nickname. He's only used it a handful of times. I think it's because if he used it all the time, the endearment attached would fade. It would lose its potency. And so he only uses the term sparingly, but always at the right moment. After a night of love. A lazy morning spent in bed. Christmas day. My birthday. Always when I need to hear it most._

"_Katniss, please," he begs. "Look at me."_

_At the sound of his plea, my eyes betray me. I gaze into his eyes, ready to cower at the resentment and blame I expect to see . . . but I find nothing but love and concern. The kind twinkle in his blue eyes shines as brightly as ever. However, his gaze is filled with the wisdom of one who has seen too much too young. It ages him. I know that this weight in his gaze is due to the pain he has suffered._

_It's my fault._

"_Will you stop that?" Peeta asks with a gentle smile. "Stop blaming yourself, Katniss. What happened is not your fault. I don't blame you."_

"_You should." My voice trembles with unshed tears. "Every time I stepped out as the Mockingjay . . ."_

"_You gave the people hope," Peeta interrupts. "Katniss, no matter what you did or didn't do, I was still going to be in pain." My breath hitches at his bluntness, but he smiles, cupping my cheek in his palm. "Hey, don't be sad," he says. "I knew what I was getting myself into, and I don't regret a single day of the time I spent in this hellhole." He looks around the cell pointedly. "I did it for you. I did it for the baby. It was my choice, one that I would make again in a heartbeat."_

_I open my mouth to argue with him, but Peeta places his fingers on my lips. "I'm running out of time," he says. "You're about to wake up, and I still need to say a few things."_

"_Okay."_

"_Okay," Peeta repeats, taking a deep breath. "Look, Katniss, I'm not going to sugar-coat things. The future that lies ahead of you is tough. You'll have the baby to take care of, but you'll also have me. The place I'm at right now, in my head . . ." he trails off bleakly, sighing. "It's not a pretty place to be. I'm gonna need your help, but I won't want it. I'm gonna be an asshole at times, and it'll probably seem like I want nothing to do with you. But you got to know that I need you more than I need air to breathe. I may leave, but I'll always come back."_

_Peeta gives me a self-deprecating smile. "The next few months are going to be hell in so many ways. I'm not the same person anymore. I've changed. In some ways for the better and in some ways not. I think both of us are different people now, and I think you know that."_

_I nod. "I'll always love you," I tell him and he smiles._

"_I know," he replies. "But I mean, how could you not? I'm irresistible."_

_A laugh escapes me, and the sound is so foreign that it makes me pause in shock. Peeta's smile fades as he reads my reaction. "I'm sorry you've gone through so much pain," he says. "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you, but I had to do what I had to do, and we both know that."_

"_I know," I reply softly. "It just hurts."_

_Peeta's eyes close. "Yeah, it does," he agrees. His eyes open again, and he looks at the door. "I'll have to go soon."_

"_Don't go," I plead, grabbing his hand. "Please, stay."_

"_You've got things to do," he says gently. "I've only got time to say one more thing. Katniss, I know it's easy to say that we're different people now, but it's much harder to actually see it. I'm not the same guy anymore, beautiful." Regret colors his face. "After what I went through . . . there's no way to come out the same. I know you'll know this in your head, but it's going to be a hard pill to swallow. In a way, we're going to have to fall in love all over again."_

_I give him a shaky smile. "I don't think it will be that hard. Painful, maybe. But not difficult."_

"_You always were the stronger of the two of us," he says with a smile. "Despite what you think." The light shining through the door brightens even more, and Peeta sighs before looking at me. "I've got to go."_

_I grab his hand. "Stay."_

_Gently, Peeta pulls his hand from mine. "Time to wake up, Katniss."_

"_Peeta—"_

"_Wake up, Katniss."_

"_Don't leave me."_

"_Katniss."_

"_Please . . ."_

"_Katniss!"_

I wake suddenly, sucking in a sharp breath. My eyes blink rapidly as a blurry face slowly becomes clearer. "Are you alright, Katniss?" Prim asks softly. "You were mumbling in your sleep."

"I'm fine," I say softly, closing my eyes as I remember my dream. Peeta looked so healthy, so strong. But his scars . . . his scars were a reminder of what he had endured. And yet, as I think back, Peeta wore them well. They didn't seem to bother him. What really mattered was that he was whole. Something told me that this Peeta in my dream was the man my Peeta would become, once he recovered. "We'll be fine." Prim looks at me oddly, but I merely smile. "Trust me, Little Duck."

"Alright." Prim shakes her head. "I just came to check on you. We were getting worried."

"Worried? Why?"

"Well, apparently you've been asleep for about a day," Prim answers with an amused smile. "It's noon the next day."

My eyes widen. "Is Peeta—"

"He hasn't woken," Prim assures me. "But he should wake sometime today. We've been slowly weaning him off the morphling."

"I need to be there." I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand quickly, already heading toward the door. "I need to be there when he wakes up."

Maya hops off the bed, immediately trotting to my side ready to go, but Prim stops us both. "Wait a minute, Katniss," she says calmly. "Look, you'll have plenty of time before Peeta wakes up. Use it to take care of yourself. Take a shower, put on some fresh clothes, get something to eat . . . okay?"

I sigh deeply, knowing that she's right. "Okay."

"Good," Prim smiles triumphantly. "Now get to it."

"Why should I listen to you?"

"Because I'm the smart one."

I feel a smile pull at my lips. "Since when did you get so confident?"

"Since I saw my sister shoulder the weight of the world and not fall," Prim says softly. "I figure if you're strong enough to do that, I can do just about anything." She smiles softly, looking sheepish. "I'll see you at the hospital."

"Okay."

Prim gives me another shy smile and then leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her. I stare at the door for a moment, wondering yet again when my Little Duck grew up. Shaking my head, I heed her advice. The shower feels heavenly, the hot water pounding away the tension in my neck and shoulders. I forgo dressing completely in the District 13 uniform. I pull on the pants, but I leave the shirt alone and substitute one of Peeta's shirts instead. Quite frankly, the button-down of the District 13 uniform is too tight in the chest, and quickly becoming too tight everywhere else. I didn't show until much later in my pregnancy than normal, likely due to my physique and the fact this is my first pregnancy, but my body seems to be making up for it in spades.

I swear my stomach was smaller when I fell asleep.

Feeling exponentially better with extra sleep and clean clothes, I head down to the mess hall, Maya still trailing loyally behind me. Everyone gives her a wide berth, but no one objects to her presence. Good. I would hate to get into an argument this early.

It's not until I take my first bite of food that I realize just how hungry I am. For once, I'm glad for the extra portion my pregnancy guarantees me. Maya sniffs at my food before shaking her head and making a disgruntled sound. "It's practically tasteless," I tell her. "It's not so bad."

Maya just looks at me nonplussed.

"You're so picky."

In another ten minutes I've finished eating and begin to make my way to the hospital. With each step I take, nervousness coils in my stomach. Peeta will wake up today. Yes, he awoke briefly before when he was first brought in, but we only exchanged one word and a heated kiss. Today the real struggle would begin. Today I will get my first glimpse into my near future—filled with whatever pain and heartbreak that may come.

I've just turned the corner of Peeta's hallway when I see none other than Plutarch Heavensbee arguing with Dr. Riley outside of Peeta's room. Immediately, my eyes narrow and I quicken my pace. "What's going on?" I ask, accusation weighing heavily in my tone.

"I was just telling Mr. Heavensbee—"

"Please, it's Plutarch."

Dr. Riley's lips purse in annoyance before she continues. "I was just telling Mr. Heavensbee that he is unable to see Peeta at this time. Only family is allowed."

It's obvious that Plutarch is flustered and aggravated by Dr. Riley's refusal to let him in the room, even if he's wearing what I'm sure he hopes is a charming smile. Frankly, I think he looks pained. "But I just saw Soldier Hawthorne come out of the room. He's not family and yet he was still able to see Mr. Mellark."

"Soldier Hawthorne has Katniss's expressed consent," Dr. Riley retorts. "You do not."

"Madame, if you would just—"

"Don't 'madame' me. You can call me that when I'm so old and decrepit that I'm deaf. Hopefully, by then you would have shut up and taken no for an answer, because I guarantee you that's what you're gonna get."

At her words, Plutarch's face turns an amusing shade of purple, and I try not to smile. Deciding that he isn't gaining any ground with Dr. Riley, he turns to me. He tries to form a kind smile, but to me he merely looks like a snake waiting to strike. "Katniss, would you please grant me permission to see your husband?"

Oh, he actually called Peeta my husband. He's going for brownie points.

Too bad I'm fresh out.

"No."

Plutarch blinks in shock. "Come again?"

"No," I repeat. "You can't see him."

"We at Command simply want to know when he could possibly do a few propos for us. We need to get his escape out to the people. The Mockingjays are reunited!" he smiles. "And speaking of which, we need you back at work, Katniss."

I smile blandly. "Sorry, Plutarch, but I'm taking an indefinite leave of absence. I'm not leaving Peeta's side."

"I understand that you will want to be there for his recovery, but you can't forget where you're needed the most, Katniss."

If I weren't so inured to Capitol apathy, I would have clocked Plutarch right in the nose. Even so, I still find my fist clenched in anger. Was he serious? "Plutarch, I'm going to be blunt with you."

"Wonderful."

"I don't give a damn about the rebellion right now," I tell him, ignoring his shocked face. "In fact, on my list of priorities, it doesn't even make the short list. Now, let me make this clear. First and foremost, I'm a mother. Second, I'm a wife. Third, I'm a sister. Fourth, I'm a friend. And then somewhere far on down the line I'm the Mockingjay. Can you guess what my priority is at the moment?"

Plutarch's face hardens. "I would assume Mr. Mellark."

"And you would be correct."

Dr. Riley is fighting to contain her grin, but somehow she manages to keep her face stern. "Now, Mr. Heavensbee, as for your desire to use Mr. Mellark for propos, I can assure you that he will not be able to do anything Mockingjay related for months. He has a very long recovery that has only just begun, and no amount of makeup can hide what he's been through. If you had half a brain in your head, you'd know that."

Plutarch presses his lips together so tightly they disappear. There's a second of silence between the three of us, before Plutarch takes a deep breath and tries to summon a smile. He fails spectacularly. "Thank you for your input. I will take the information back to Command."

"You do that," Dr. Riley says with a wide smile.

Plutarch gives us a stiff nod before turning abruptly on his heel and stalking down the hallway. The moment he is out of sight, Dr. Riley immediately bursts into laughter. I can't help the short laugh that escapes me as well. When she finally gets herself together, Dr. Riley turns to me, "That was so much fun," she says gleefully, looking half her age. "I hate politicians."

"You were wonderful," I praise with a grin.

"Yes, well, you had your moments, too. Let's share the victory."

"Deal," I agree. My smile falters as I glance at the door to Peeta's room, reality sinking in once more. Dr. Riley notices.

"He'll be alright with time."

"How much time?"

Dr. Riley pauses, debating her answer. Finally she sighs, placing a hand on my arm. "I wish I knew, sweetie. I wish I knew."

"He won't be the Peeta I remember."

"In some ways, no," Dr. Riley admits. "But at heart . . . at heart he's still the same man."

"We'll find out soon, won't we?" I ask rhetorically. My eyes drift down the hallway and a thought occurs to me. "Can I see Johanna?"

Dr. Riley frowns. "Katniss . . . she's not in the best frame of mind. We've already had to sedate her twice since she was brought in."

"Please. I promise I'll keep it short. I just want to see her," I say, which is not entirely true, but that doesn't matter. "She's my friend. Maybe it will help to see a familiar face."

Dr. Riley's eyes narrow. "Five minutes."

"Thanks."

"I've got rounds to make," she says. "I'll see you later. I'll be checking in with Peeta sometime tonight."

"Okay."

We part ways and I hurry to Johanna's room. However, when I reach her door, my hand pauses on the doorknob; fear stopping me from going in. I'm afraid of what I'll see. Johanna Mason seemed to carry an air of invincibility. So much fire and determination. It is hard to believe that I might find her broken.

Finding courage, I twist the knob and step into the room. Immediately, chocolate brown eyes lock on me, analyzing my every feature. So critical is her gaze, that I don't know whether to be embarrassed or afraid. I slowly walk further into the room, and Johanna's gaze never falters in its intensity. When I'm a few feet from the bed, I stop.

Johanna looks tiny. The small hospital bed threatens to swallow her. She's wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, but she's still shivering. Her short brown hair is gone, having been shaven by the Capitol. Her cheeks are sallow and her lips chapped. Her eyes are sunken and red.

"You look like hell."

"You're so fat it's obscene."

For a second neither of us so much as breathes . . . and then the corners of Johanna's lips twitch upward in a smile. "Never thought I'd say it, but it's good to see you."

"Likewise," I reply as I pull up a chair to sit down. "I won't ask you how you are. We both know the answer."

"Good, skip the pleasantries. Always thought they were a waste of time."

It's the perfect opening to begin my questioning, but I can't make myself take it. Johanna just escaped Capitol torture. The last thing she probably wants to do is talk about it. However, before I can think of something else to say, Johanna beats me to it.

"How's Golden Boy?" she asks. "You seen him yet?"

"Yeah," I answer softly. Immediately, I think of Peeta's beaten body lying just down the hall. Sadness so deep courses through my veins that I can't even summon the will to cry. "He'll be fine."

"Not anytime soon," Johanna retorts, anger coloring her tone and building as she continues to speak. "Not anytime soon. No, he'll be messed up. His head won't be right. He'll keep seeing it over and over. He's out of the Capitol, but he's still there. In his head. He can't escape them. No, he's not alright. He might never be alright. Slightest thing will make him jump. Sound of water will make him freeze. Won't be able to see a stranger without tensing, waiting for a beating. No . . . he's fucked."

Throughout her rant, Johanna's heart monitor has been steadily rising, just like her anger. I don't bother interrupting her, no matter how her words pain me. She needs this.

"Damn cowards, they all are," she seethes. "Knew if they didn't chain me like I dog I'd rip their heads off. Damn them all! What right did they have? What right? How dare they take everything from me! It's not like I had anything to give in the first place. It's because of them that I can't sleep without drugs. It's because of them that I'm scared of running water. It's water! Fucking water! And I'll start crying and screaming like a little girl." Johanna chokes on a breath as tears fill her eyes. "Just make it stop," she pleads, sobbing. "Make it stop."

Wordlessly, I press the button on her monitor that releases her medicine. Immediately, Johanna's sobs slow until she's breathing evenly again. Her eyelids close, though it doesn't stop the tears from sliding down her cheeks. I gently wipe them away. "You'll be okay, Johanna," I tell her softly. "Don't you dare give up."

I wait a few moments to make sure that Johanna is sleeping peacefully until quietly exiting the room. My heart is racing. Will Peeta react in any way like Johanna? I sigh as I think of Johanna's rage. So blindingly angry. And then that anger was swept away by despair in the blink of an eye. Can I do this? At least one thing is certain. As long as Peeta is hurting, I'm going to be hurting right along with him.

When I enter his room, he's still asleep. Maya is already lying at the foot of his bed, keeping guard, and her head pops up the moment I step into the room. Dr. Riley must have let her in when I wasn't paying attention. "Hey girl," I say as I run a hand down her back. "How is he?"

Maya sniffs before lying back down.

"No change, then? Yeah, that's what I thought."

I resume my vigil at Peeta's bedside. My eyes rove over his form. Since I've seen him last, some color has returned to his cheeks. I notice that he's breathing a little bit easier now, and that some of his bruises have changed color. At least it's an improvement, however slight.

"I saw Johanna," I tell him softly. "She's . . . she's in pretty bad shape. But she's still Johanna Mason, that's for sure. You should have heard her rant awhile ago. I fear for the life of any Capitol citizen she ever crosses."

"She asked about you," I continue. "I told her you'd be okay."

Peeta's chest simply rises and falls in response. I lay my hand over his since due to his broken wrist I can't hold his hand like I want. "Let's talk about something else," I say. "I'm just now five months along. We're halfway there. Four more months and our baby will be here. You know, we're going to have to start thinking of names. I was thinking since I think it's a boy, I should come up with a boy name and since you think it's a girl, you could come up with a girl name. How does that sound?"

Again, no response.

"Come on, Peeta," I plead quietly. "I know it's selfish of me, but I need you here. _We_ need you." I pause, looking for any sign of waking, but find none. Just when I'm about to withdraw my hand, his fingers twitch. Right on cue, his heart monitor begins to pick up slightly. "Come back to me, Peeta," I order softly. "You promised."

And then Peeta's eyes flutter open. Blearily, he turns his head toward me, still blinking back sleep. "Katniss?" His voice is rough from disuse. "Is it really you?"

"It's really me," I assure him, rejoicing as his fingers gently curl around mine. I reach behind me with my free hand and grab the waiting glass of water. Carefully, I hold it to his lips and let him drink. After a few sips, I pull the cup away and set it back behind me. "Better?"

"Loads," Peeta says before wincing in pain.

"What's wrong? What hurts?"

A smile that holds no humor twitches his lips. "Everything. Don't worry, though. It's nothing I can't handle."

"No," I reply softly. "I suppose not."

Both of us sit in silence for the longest time. I have so much I want to tell him. I want to tell him about the baby, every single development. I want to tell him how much I missed him, how my body ached for him every day. There is so much that I want to tell him, but I just can't find the words.

And so the silence continues.

I stare at our joined hands, which at this moment is the only sign of unity between us. After another ten minutes of silence, I finally manage to say, "I missed you."

Peeta's fingers curl tighter around my own. I look up to meet his gaze. What I see in his eyes makes me want to cry. Where there was once nothing but a kind twinkle with a hint of mischief, there is now miles and miles of pain. That's all I see when I look into his eyes. Pain. I stare into his eyes, searching for something more. Anything.

But I only see pain. Nothing else.

Not even love.

Tears fill my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall just yet. Never in a million years did I ever imagine I could look into Peeta Mellark's eyes and not see love. It's what made Peeta who he was; his ability to love. Compassion. The twinkle in his eye is gone.

"Not a minute passed that I didn't think of you," Peeta replies quietly. "I would picture your face, the morning after we first made love. You were so happy and content . . ." he trails off before adding, "_I_ was happy and content."

I want to tell him that we'll be that way again. I want to fill both of our minds with the blissful happiness that we once knew . . . but the words die in my throat. Nothing will ever be the same. Not after this.

It's only now that I realize just how much that breaks my heart, and it's with this realization that the tears finally slip from my eyes.

* * *

**Yeah . . . I forgot how sad that was . . .**

**So, at least Dream-Peeta was moderately happy, right? By the way, that dream sequence was the first in a few that will be similar. This will give you a hint of what Peeta experienced without doing his POV. Anything Katniss feels or experiences during the dream, is what happened to Peeta. So there's you're little glimpse into what happened in the Capitol. We'll also get some stories from the real Peeta, but those are a few chapters away.**

**As for Johanna, however awesome it would have been to have her be alright and still kickass . . . that's just not realistic. I wanted her broken. I wanted someone that strong to break because that's real. It happens. Don't worry, she'll build herself back up. ;)**

**Summary Time: Katniss sleeps the day away with sexy DreamPeeta, and then she and Peeta play the Quiet Game; Prim proves her Elvish roots once again; Haymitch pulled on his Daddypants; Rye is off somewhere terrorizing the people of 13; Plutarch got OWNED; Dr. Riley reached epic levels of awesomeness; and Maya is the bestest wolfy companion ever . . .**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Peeta!  
**

**"Tell me what I missed. Everything."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	14. Enter Sandman

**A/N: Once again, you guys amaze me with your awesomeness of epic fantabulous proportions. I say it all the time, but it needs to be said. Because it's true. And so, I repeat: YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING.**

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and the many alerts and favorites and everything else that you guys do to inflate my already inflated ego. **

**I actually don't have much to say today. Yeah, I know. It's strange. Aside from an essay I need to write over the weekend on a topic I've yet to come up with and studying for a chemistry test, I don't have much to say. Oh, except for the fact that midterms are next week. Yay. I'm so excited guys. Really, I can't describe the complete euphoria running through my veins at the thought.**

**Okay, sarcasm aside, let's move onto the chapter! This chapter is one of my favorites because one of the most dramatic, sad, heartbreaking (yet still awesome) scenes is in this chapter. It's one of the very first scenes that I thought of writing when contemplating this story and outlining it over the summer. It's intense though.**

**Which is why I must give a warning. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT LANGUAGE. Flashbacks have the tendency to spawn dirty words.**

**Also, this chapter's title is "Enter Sandman," and for those of you who like Metallica, you know it's not the happiest song in the world. Or the nicest. Hence, why I chose it for this chapter. I literally listened to this song on repeat the entire time I wrote the chapter.**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Me: *jamming out to Metallica* Woo! This song is awesome!**

******************************************Peeta: I don't know, this song seems kind of dark to me . . .**

******************************************Rye: Yeah, it's creepy. And is there really a man made of sand?**

******************************************Peter Parker: Dude, you have no idea.**

******************************************Me: Dude! Wrong fandom!**

******************************************Katniss: Who was that?**

******************************************Me: Oh, just this smarty pants that got bit by a radioactive spider . . .**

******************************************Ron Weasley: Spiders! They want me to tap dance! I don't want to tap dance!**

******************************************Harry Potter: You tell those spiders, Ron.**

******************************************Haymitch: WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?!**

******************************************Me: Um . . . sorry, I got carried away . . .**

* * *

Chapter 14: Enter Sandman

_Something's wrong, shut the light_

_Heavy thoughts tonight, and they aren't of Snow White  
_

_Dreams of War, Dreams of Lies, Dreams of Dragon's Fire  
_

_And of things that will bite  
_

* * *

As the tears slip slowly from my eyes, Peeta just watches them fall. I see the pain in his eyes increase with each saltwater drop that escapes me. He lets me cry, though his fingers tighten around mine in a comforting gesture. But it's not what I want. I want him to hold me. I want him to tell me that it's all going to be okay. I want him to smile. I want him to laugh.

But I know that it will not happen.

And that just makes it worse.

I know that it's not fair of me to ask so much from him. It's not fair for me to expect him to be the Peeta I remember. And yet, I can't deny that I am angry at him. For leaving me. For returning to me as a stranger, a ghost of his former self. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say.

And I irrationally blame Peeta.

I know that my anger should be directed toward the Capitol, toward President Snow. It's their fault that Peeta was taken from me. It's their fault that they returned him to me a different person. Everything is their fault. The blame rests on their shoulders.

As I continue to contemplate the Capitol and what they've done, seething rage begins to bubble within me. I've never felt so much hate. What they've done to Peeta crossed a line I didn't even know existed. They will pay. I will personally see to it. Oh yes, they will most definitely pay for what they have done.

My tears dry up as I continue to focus my anger away from Peeta and where it truly belongs: the Capitol. I know that I cannot possibly be there for Peeta completely if I'm angry with him for something that he had no control over, for something that he endured to save me. I can't hold onto this anger and help him.

But when I finally let go of the anger, it's replaced with a feeling resembling desolation. The shadowy future that currently lies before me is fraught with unknowns and guaranteed struggles. Somehow, I will have to help Peeta recover, mentally and physically, all while pregnant and fending off Command. How am I going to do this? It's too much. It's too much for one person to handle.

But I have Prim. I have Rye and Gale. And most importantly, I have Haymitch. Haymitch will help me. He can help me deal with Command. Prim and Rye will be right by my side through every step of my pregnancy, just as they have the past month. I'm not alone in this. I know that.

However, the lonely void in my heart says differently.

"Katniss."

I blink back the last vestiges of my tears and focus on his face. He's studying me, looking over my face in a hyper-analytic way. It's almost as if he's trying to decide how to help me. What used to be second nature to him now requires contemplation. We both stare at each other for a moment, searching each other's gaze. Fruitlessly, I try to find some part of the man I remember. His eyes, once so expressive, are now guarded and suspicious. His face is set in an expression of cautious curiosity. It's like he doesn't know what to make of me.

It hurts.

His gaze eventually leaves my face, his eyes dropping down until they rest on my stomach. Then, in his eyes, a flash of emotion flickers. It's gone in a blink, but I still saw it. This little flicker of emotion fills me with relief. It's a sign. Peeta's still in there. I know he is. Dr. Riley's words from before filter through my mind.

_The man you love is still there, but right now he's too hurt to be all that he once was_.

Yes, Peeta's still there. Somewhere. I can't give up on him.

"Tell me about what I missed," he says, his eyes still glued to my round stomach. "Everything."

"That's a long story."

"I have time."

I take a deep breath. "Okay." Quickly, I rack my brain for a starting point, but after a second or two I decide that the beginning is as good a place as any. "I made it back to the lightning tree just as District 13 was pulling Beetee up. I passed out from blood loss and when I woke up I was in the hospital, and Haymitch was there waiting for me. He told me that you, Johanna, and Enobaria had been captured." I sigh, closing my eyes as I remember the despair-ridden weeks that followed. "I wasn't in a very good place for a while. The doctors labeled me as 'mentally disoriented' which I used to my advantage. To get out of meetings all I had to do was start mumbling nonsense." My lips quirk slightly. "I did that a lot."

The Peeta I remember would have laughed, or at least smiled.

This Peeta's face remains expressionless.

Fighting against a mixture of anger and sadness, I continue. "But, eventually, I pulled myself together and started campaigning to go back to 12. I knew it'd been bombed but—" Suddenly, I pause and look at Peeta with wide eyes. "Did you know? About 12?"

Peeta's eyes darken in cold rage. "I saw the footage," he spits. "Multiple times."

It takes me a moment to digest the sheer venom in his words, but I take a deep breath and try to move on. "Well, I wanted to see it. Haymitch and I finally convinced them to let us make the trip. It's ashes. The Seam got the worst of it, but the Town was hardly any better. All that's left of the bakery is the oven." I spare him a sympathetic glance, but Peeta doesn't respond. "But the Victor's Village was spared. Hell, the grass was still green and the flowers were still blooming." I scowl in anger before remembering the good thing that came from that day. "Only good thing that came from that trip was that I found Maya."

At the sound of her name, Maya's head comically pops up. With a wolfy smile, she trots to my side. Peeta stiffens at the sight of her and for a moment I'm worried that her presence might prompt one of the flashbacks that Dr. Riley mentioned, but Peeta relaxes a few seconds later. Almost as if she sensed his acceptance, Maya nudges between me and the bed so she can be closer to Peeta. Gently, she nuzzles his hand with her muzzle before licking his fingers. I withdraw my hand from his and immediately his fingers tangle in her fur. Maya simply rests her head on the edge of the bed, content to stay where she is as long as Peeta continues to pet her.

"She's good company," I say with a tentative smile. "Honestly, she's been keeping me sane."

"I'm glad she's alright," Peeta says quietly, though his tone is still emotionless.

My smile crumbles, but I swallow and try to continue my tale. "Anyway, I went into the house. It was just how we left it—" I stop abruptly as I realize my statement is false. Our house was not exactly how we'd left it.

"What?" Peeta asks sharply, his eyes immediately scanning the room. For a moment I'm confused by his actions, until I realize that he is looking for a threat. His reasoning for my abruptness was that there was somehow a threat, a danger. Not the fact that I'd simply remembered something.

"We're fine," I tell him as Maya nuzzles his hand again, as if to calm him in her own way. "I just remembered something." Peeta simply looks at me, waiting, though I know he's still scanning the room in his peripheral. "There was a rose," I divulge quietly. "A white rose on the bed."

Peeta's eyes narrow dangerously, and for the first time in my life I feel afraid of him. His eyes are too cold. Too calculated.

Deadly.

The ache in my heart intensifies, but I manage to push the pain to the back of my mind. I should have expected this. After all the violence he'd seen, the carnage . . . I'm sure that violence seems much more acceptable. More natural.

"He'll pay for that," Peeta eventually says. Although his voice is perfectly calm and even, the threat in his voice is abundantly clear. "I promise."

"I believe you."

I resume my tale after a moment, when Peeta's gaze softens just slightly. He listens without comment when I tell him about the rest of my trip to 12 and then all my dealings with Command and Coin. Reluctantly, I admit my stupid decision to go to District 8. I tell him about the bombings and how Rye probably prevented an injury that might have had disastrous consequences for the baby. Peeta's eyes narrow at that. Is it simply because I put myself in danger? Or . . . maybe . . . is it the fact that Rye saved me? Could it be that he's envious of his brother for protecting me when he couldn't? Something I know Peeta considered his job.

There's no reaction from him as I tell him about the rest of the propos, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes when I talk about Coin, something dangerous. It gets worse as I tell of mine and Haymitch's theory; how we think that Coin is just using me for propos, but I'll become expendable as soon as the baby is born. That she'll try to get rid of me because I'm the only one who stands in her way on her ascent to power.

"I need to talk to Haymitch," he says and I nod, though I'm wary of what plans this new Peeta and Haymitch could concoct.

"I'll make sure he stops by," I assure him quietly.

We fall into silence for a few moments before Peeta asks, "What about the baby?" For the first time, his voice holds a hint of caution that borders on fear.

I lay a gentle hand on his good arm, unable to refrain from caressing the smooth skin. At my touch, the muscles in Peeta's arm tense. His reaction hurts, but I don't let it show. A part of me expected it. Peeta hasn't known a gentle touch for a long time.

"Everything's fine," I say with a small smile. "Despite it all. Dr. Riley says he or she is tough as nails." A small laugh escapes me. "It makes sense though, right? Anyway, she keeps harping about avoiding stress. I've already been put on bed rest once because of it. But I'm okay. We're okay."

Finally, I'm able to talk to him about the baby and all he's missed. The release is so cathartic that the words spill from my mouth in a rush. I tell him about each one of my doctor's appointments, and how Prim or Rye will typically accompany me. With a watery smile I tell him of how I've heard the baby's heartbeat and how I've actually seen its image on a tiny little screen. I tell him how I can feel the baby move, every flutter reminding me that he's there.

However, as I continue to gush about the baby, Peeta slowly becomes tense beneath my fingers. A wild light slowly flames within his eyes, burning brighter and brighter as I continue. The hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand up, but I can't seem to stop talking. I've wanted him to know all of this for too long.

"And the other day, Dr. Riley asked if I wanted to know the gender," I say. "She could have told me, but . . ." Maya begins to whine, nuzzling Peeta's hand. ". . . well . . . I didn't want to know without you there. It wasn't fair."

"No it's not," Peeta agrees with more fury in his voice than I've ever heard.

Maya's whine increases in intensity as she places herself between myself and Peeta, as if she's protecting me from him. But, why? She licks his fingers, paws gently at his arm, but Peeta either doesn't notice or is ignoring her.

"It's not fair," he seethes. Rage radiates from him in waves, and my heartbeat suddenly races toward a frantic pace. In the background, I hear the rapid beat of the heart monitor, but still I can't find it within myself to move away. I want to help him. "It's not fair," he repeats furiously. "It's not fucking fair!"

And a second before he snaps, I realize what's happening.

Peeta is having a flashback.

Maya growls sharply as Peeta shouts, "It's not fair! Damn them!" Suddenly, doctors burst into the room, pushing me out of the way and Maya, too. They swarm Peeta, grabbing at him, trying to hold him down so they can sedate him.

Big mistake.

The moment Peeta has a chance, he lashes out. Despite his injuries, he moves quicker than I've ever seen, grabbing the nearest doctor and tossing him back. This only prompts a stronger retaliation from the doctors as more rush in to try to subdue him, but Peeta is like a caged animal. Their presence only agitates him more. He swings his fist blindly, managing to catch one of the doctors in the jaw. Another doctor gets a kick to the chest. A nurse gets her face rammed into one of the monitors.

"I don't know anything!" Peeta shouts. "I don't know anything!"

"Mr. Mellark, we're trying to help you!"

"Go to hell you bastards!"

"I need that sedative, Michelle!"

At the sight of the needle, Peeta goes berserk, struggling harder than ever. "Get that away from me!" he screams. "I don't know anything, you stupid fucking pricks! I don't know anything!"

"Mr. Mellark—"

"I'll kill all of you! Just wait! I'll kill you for what you've done!"

"I need that sedative! Hold him down!"

"I'll kill you! All of you! I'll fucking kill you!"

Finally, after what seems like hours, a doctor finally manages to inject the sedative. It must have been quite a high dose because Peeta immediately becomes lethargic. He slumps back onto the bed, though his eyes refuse to close. He glares so ferociously at the doctor that I fully expect the man to fall over dead.

"It'll never work," Peeta tells him smugly. Defiant. "You can keep me here for the rest of my life, but I'm not telling you a damn thing. You can inject me with all the venom you want."

Peeta's quickly losing the battle with consciousness, but he forces himself to make one more declaration before he succumbs. "I'd never hurt her."

His eyes close, and everyone in the room breathes a sigh of relief . . . except for me.

I don't know when I slid down the wall, my hand clasped over my mouth to try to muffle my sobs. Tears poor in a torrent down my cheeks. Maya whines in concern, nudging me with her nose, but I don't reach out to her. I'm frozen. Horror and despair keeps me still.

A hand appears in front of my face and I look up through my tears and see the blurry outline of Haymitch. I'm not sure if I take his hand or not, but suddenly I'm on my feet being led out of the room. Haymitch leads me into a different room, and then I'm sitting in a chair. Maya lays her head in my lap, trying with all her might to console me, but I can't find even a smidgen of comfort from my furry companion.

Haymitch sits down next to me and wordlessly pulls me into his arms, letting me cry into his chest. Once again, he's dropped his guard to take care of me. He runs a soothing hand down my back, murmurs in my ear, but it doesn't help. Haymitch quickly realizes this too, because he stops and just lets me cry and ruin his shirt.

When my tears finally cease, I feel awful. My eyes are sore, my nose is runny, and my throat feels raw. My body aches from the force of my sobs, and I want nothing more than to curl up in a ball and go to sleep.

"If you manage to shed another tear in your life, I'll be impressed," Haymitch says eventually. "Because Heaven knows you've cried enough for one lifetime."

The words are so typically Haymitch that I can't help the choked laugh that escapes me. "I won't argue with you," I respond quietly, easing away from him and wiping my eyes. I blink quickly, trying to clear my vision. After a moment, I look up to meet Haymitch's eyes. Immediately, I notice that his eyes are red-rimmed as well, but I don't voice my observation.

I take stock of my surroundings and realize that I'm in the observation lounge that looks into Peeta's room. Instantly, I'm on my feet and moving toward the large window that spans the entire wall. Through the glass Peeta lies motionlessly on the bed, his face relaxed in sleep. There's no evidence of his earlier violence, and yet I still see it in my mind's eye. Now that I've had time away from the incident, I can think of it in a more rational manner.

Peeta's body may be broken, but he's still as strong as I remember; perhaps stronger, if the events of today are anything to go by. Yes, I'm sure he got a boost from the adrenaline, but those moves were all him. Such quick reaction. Perfect timing. Perfect execution. Frankly, it's a good thing for the doctors that he never got to his feet. My gut tells me things would have gone from bad to worse in the blink of an eye.

"Did you see it?" I ask quietly as Haymitch joins me by the window.

"Yeah," he admits with a heavy sigh. "Came in when you were talking about the baby. Saw him tense up. Called the doctors the moment his eyes got a little too wild for my peace of mind."

Remembering how many doctors rushed in, his statement makes sense. That many doctors would not have answered a simple quickening heart monitor unless they had forewarning of what to expect. As the scene unfolds in my mind, anger fills me.

"Why did they rush him like that?" I hiss in incredulity. "That didn't help at all!"

"He was already in the flashback," Haymitch counters gently. "Nothing would have helped."

"They could have at least gone about it differently!" I argue. "Surely, they had to realize that rushing him like that would only seem like an attack. They can't be that stupid."

"I'm not saying they handled the situation perfectly," Haymitch retorts logically. "But we'll never know if anything else would have made a difference. There's no sense in being angry over it. Right now, we just need to focus on how this episode will affect Peeta, if at all."

My lips purse in a thin line. I know that he's right, and I hate it. The prospect of yelling at some doctors was beginning to brighten my mood slightly. "Fine."

Haymitch ignores my tone. "I was talking to Dr. Riley about the flashbacks since that was what worried her the most." He pauses to study Peeta for a moment, sadness melting into his gaze. "As we just found out, she was right to worry."

My hand finds the glass. "What did she say?"

"Well, first off, she said that Peeta might not remember the episode at all." Haymitch runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Or he might remember bits and pieces. He might remember what set him off and nothing else. Or he might remember the episode but be unable to know the reason for it. It's all so damn unpredictable. Hell, he might remember the entire thing."

We fall into silence as we both stare through the glass at Peeta. "I don't know how to help him, Haymitch," I divulge quietly, despair clawing at my heart. "He's pretending to be detached, but there's so much emotion hiding underneath. Sadness. Pain. Anger . . ." My eyes flit to Haymitch before focusing on Peeta once more. "He's so angry, Haymitch. It's eating him alive, I can tell."

"That's dangerous," Haymitch says seriously and I feel a tear slip from my eye. It seems I have yet to run out of tears. But then again, I don't think there's a limit to the amount of tears I can shed for Peeta.

"For the first time in my life, I'm afraid of him," I admit with a soft sob. "I'm terrified. I'm scared of what he can do."

Haymitch's arm wraps around me again. "I'm more worried about what he _will_ do." His calculative eyes scrutinize Peeta. "Peeta will get back into shape," he says. "We both know that. He'll need that. But I'm worried about what will fuel him. Katniss . . . anger like that . . . you can't let it fester. It will consume him, that anger that fuels his need for revenge. You saw it."

Yes, I did. I can still remember Peeta's cold, vengeful threat. _He'll pay for that. I promise._

I wonder if Snow realizes that he's created his own bane.

"I don't know how to help him," I repeat, my voice carrying a plea. I need Haymitch to give me the answer I so desperately seek.

"Just be you," he replies, turning to look at me fully. "You were his anchor in that hellhole. The kid's life revolves around you. It still does. You heard him there at the end."

_I'd never hurt her. _His last words to the doctors before the drugs overpowered him.

"He lives for you," Haymitch continues. "You and the baby. And he's not so far gone that he won't do everything he can to be the man he knows he needs to be. It's gonna be a rough road, but eventually he'll get there. You just got to guide him through, Katniss. Listen when he wants to talk. Give him space when he needs it. Push him when he needs to be pushed. You know him better than anyone."

"But I don't know this Peeta," I argue bleakly. "He's different."

"At heart he's the same," Haymitch counters. "At heart he's still compassionate, loving, and too damn nice." My lips twitch at that. "And, yes, he's different, but he's not a different person entirely. He's gained some new personality traits. Some will fade as he recovers, some won't. What you've got to ask yourself, is if you can still love him despite that?"

I contemplate my answer. It pains me that I can't give him an immediate positive answer. I shouldn't have to think if I can love Peeta. Of course, I love Peeta. I love him more than I ever thought myself capable. I can't imagine life without him. To even try is excruciating. But can I love this new Peeta? This Peeta that has smothered the Peeta I remember in order to protect himself from the horror he endured. This Peeta that's righteously angry and thirsting for revenge, who barely bats an eye at violence and treats me as though I'm merely a name and a face.

As doubt begins to cloud my mind, I hear Peeta's voice whisper in my ear. _In a way, we're going to have to fall in love all over again._

The Peeta in my dream is right. We _are_ going to have to fall in love all over again. Can I do that? Can I risk falling for him yet again only to find later that he can't return my feelings? Can my heart take the rejection?

No. It can't.

But I remember what Peeta said before he was pulled under by the sedative. His last declaration made with so much defiance, and yet beneath that, love. _I'd never hurt her._

Peeta would never hurt me. No matter how he may have changed, that fact will remain resolute. And it's the passion behind his statement, the sheer strength of belief that gives me my answer.

"Yes," I say quietly, but firmly. My eyes leave Haymitch to stare through the glass at Peeta. Yes, of course, I can love him. It may be painful at times, but I'll always love him. Just as he has always loved me. I have to trust him. He promised to come back to me. "Always."

* * *

**Well, that's quite an emotional chapter, huh? Don't worry, there's more to come. A lot more.**

**Poor Peeta! He's all messed up and yet still always thinking of Katniss. *sigh***

**So, what did you think of the flashback? Personally, I like it. It's violent, intense, and heartbreaking all at the same time. Oh, and Peeta got to drop f-bombs. I don't know why but that just makes me smile. And then Katniss! Wow, her life sucks right now. I mean, she's got the baby and Coin and her Mom and now Peeta and she really just can't catch a break.**

**Fun times!**

**And the summary of the chapter is as follows: Peeta and Katniss play a game of charades with the doctors; Peeta did some light stretching; the doctors flee in terror; Katniss cries; Haymitch cries; Rye is somewhere in the next chapter; Gale is wandering aimlessly; Prim is conversing with Legolas forming an alliance because Coin is trying to travel to Middle Earth to bring Sauron back, her long lost uncle.**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Dr. Riley!**

**"His head might be a mess of cats, but damn it he still loves you."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	15. Dear Agony

**A/N: And we're back for another dramatic installment! Woo! Hey, Rye's in this one! I do love him.**

**But I made him cry, so . . . yeah . . .**

**This chapter is another one of my favorites, if only because of Peeta's very dark thoughts and his new bestie Death. I love his monologue. Love it. If only because it's creepy.**

**As for last chapter, I'm thrilled that all of you liked the flashback! It is definitely one of my favorite chapters. For those of you who are wanting a dramatic, "Peeta completely breaks down moment," don't worry, that moment shall come. That's Chapter 19. For those of you who are wanting some happy PK moments when Peeta is actual real and not in dream form, that shall come too. In like Chapter 21.**

**So there's a light at the end of the tunnel. And for those of you who are loving the angst, there's plenty of that still to come!**

**Oh, and I love you guys. Just want to throw that out there. So, consider it thrown.**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Rye: Hey! Why are you making me cry? **

******************************************Peeta: Yeah, seriously. It's not because of me, is it?**

******************************************Me: Um . . . you have some brotherly bonding time?**

******************************************Peeta: And I make him cry.**

******************************************Me: You make Katniss cry, too. Hell, you made _me_ cry.**

******************************************Peeta: Oh, wow.**

******************************************Haymitch: That's impressive.**

******************************************Katniss: We were beginning to think you had no soul.**

******************************************Me: Oh, I have a soul . . . it's just buried deep, deep, _way_ deep down.**

* * *

Chapter 15: Dear Agony

_Leave me alone, God let me go_

_I'm blue and cold, black sky will burn  
_

_Love tear me down, Hate lift me up  
_

_Just turn around, there's nothing left  
_

_Somewhere far beyond this world, I feel nothing anymore  
_

* * *

"Alright, what happened?"

Dr. Riley stands in front of us, her arms folded across her chest as her eyes examine us critically. Sitting down in front of her, curled up in the chair as much as I can be, I feel as though I'm being scolded by my mother. Humorously, Haymitch seems just as uncomfortable, but I'm unable to smile at my mentor. It's hard for me to smile these days.

"Well?" she questions sharply. "Come on, give me the story."

"Didn't the doctors tell you?" I ask.

"Honey, after all these years, I've learned that there's always two sides to a story," she replies. "I'd like to hear your side."

I take a deep breath. "Peeta woke up while I was sitting with him. Everything seemed okay. He was detached and distant, but he wasn't a threat. He asked me to fill him in about all that he'd missed. I was able to talk to him about everything without much of a reaction from him, except when I mentioned Coin." I pause, hesitating. What if I tell the entire truth and Dr. Riley says that I can't see Peeta anymore? What if she deems it too dangerous?

As if sensing my thoughts, Dr. Riley looks over the tops of her glasses, her eyebrows raised. "Katniss, I need to know everything. Don't hold back."

"When I mentioned Coin and what I thought of her and her motives . . . particularly toward me . . . he didn't have the best reaction," I admit reluctantly.

"He reacted violently?"

"No, not really," I disagree. "But . . . his reaction promised violence. His eyes narrowed and he just looked so . . . deadly." Even now, hours later, I still can't believe the honesty in his violent eyes. Peeta could kill Coin, quite easily and most likely with very little or no guilt.

I don't know whether to be terrified or reassured.

Dr. Riley nods, as if this makes sense, and asks me to continue. I describe the rest of the encounter to her, focusing on when he started to get agitated. I tell her how as I continued to talk about the baby, he grew more and more angry and tense until he eventually snapped.

"It all happened so quickly," I say in a whisper, half of my mind still trapped in the replay of the incident. "One second he was entirely still and then the next he's screaming about how unfair it is. Then the doctors rushed in and it just went to hell. Peeta started attacking them because they kept trying to hold him down." My anger returns as I remember the stupidity of the doctors' actions. "It's not his fault that he hurt them," I tell her defiantly. "They shouldn't have rushed him like that!"

"I know," Dr. Riley nods. "Believe me, I told them all that they were idiots."

I nod in satisfaction. "Anyway, Peeta kept struggling and fighting against them. He kept shouting that he didn't know anything." My voice breaks. "He kept saying how he would never tell them anything. He wasn't going to betray me. He was protecting me."

"Well of course, girl," Dr. Riley says exasperated. "That boy loves you more than life itself. His head might be a mess of cats, but damn it he still loves you."

My heart lifts a little at her words. "You really think so?"

Dr. Riley sighs, shaking her head as if I'm missing the obvious. I probably am. She squats down in front of me, resting her hands on my knees, and looks up into my eyes in her grandmotherly way. "Sweetie, that man lying there in that room loves you more than his own life. It may not seem like it right now, but he's the very same man you fell in love with . . . he just grew up. He's not a boy anymore. He's a man. More to the point, he's a man who has been through more pain than anyone should ever endure, and for reasons that are as pointless as they are cruel. He's still yours. Yes, he might be a bit more violent now, but isn't that perfectly reasonable given what he's gone through?"

I nod and she smiles gently. "Now, you've got to see his new personality as the same but with a few new quirks. Everyone changes as they get older, and Peeta did a lot of growing up in a very short space of time. Some of the quirks he'll probably hate as much as you do, but they're a part of him now. This violence is a part of him." Dr. Riley pauses, as if considering her next words carefully. "Now, I figure you've got two ways to see this new side of himself. One, is you can choose to ignore it and delude yourself into thinking that with enough time, he'll be the man you remember. I can tell you right now that is not gonna happen. Your second option is to accept this new part of him, and realize that it might actually come in handy. What you two will be asked to do will require more than wit and skill. It'll require breaking some morals that I think you and I both know Peeta wouldn't have originally been prepared to break."

"This violent side of him simply has to be tempered so that he applies it for good use, something that I think he's already proven today." I frown in confusion and Dr. Riley smiles. "He's still protecting you, didn't you hear him? Honestly, aside from flashbacks, I'm not too worried about his new penchant for violence because I have a feeling he'll simply use it to protect you and anyone else he cares about."

Slowly, as her words sink in, I realize the truth she speaks. All this time, I've been thinking that Peeta is a stranger to me. He's not. He's still Peeta; I've just got to be patient. I have to be there for him as he heals. I have to gently coax him out of this protective shell he's encased his heart in. Peeta is still in there. I just have to reach him. And yes, when I finally reach Peeta he will be different but not entirely. Like Dr. Riley said . . . he'll simply have a few new quirks.

Like willingly committing violence.

Yeah, that will take some getting used to.

"Okay," I nod, trying to focus my mind. "Do you have an idea what prompted the flashback in the first place?"

"I think we both know the answer to that," Dr. Riley retorts. "He was angry that he's missed so much of the pregnancy. From what you've told me, he would have been there for you every step of the way and loved every minute of it. The Capitol deprived him of that experience and he'll never get that time back. The Capitol stole that experience away from him, and in the process forced you to go through it on your own. It was most likely a mixture of anger and guilt."

"It's not fair." I repeat Peeta's words. "It's not fair."

"No, it's not," Dr. Riley agrees with a sigh. "But there's nothing we can do about that, so let's focus on what we _can_ do. Now, I need you to remember, Katniss. Was there any forewarning? Was there some little tell that he was about to experience a flashback? It would be incredibly helpful if we could see these things coming. Maybe then we can eventually prevent them. Talk him through it, you know?"

I nod as I rack my brain for some memory. "He got this look in his eye. It looked a little . . . unstable." Dr. Riley nods as if this was a normal reaction and I try to think harder, think of something more telling. "And he tensed up . . ."

"Maya," Haymitch suddenly speaks up, looking at the wolf at my feet. "She knew it was coming."

"Really?" Dr. Riley eyes Maya with interest. "Animals have such acute senses, immensely stronger than humans. There's a very real possibility that Maya could help Peeta greatly."

Maya suddenly sits up proudly, like she knows how important she is. I smile as I trail a hand down her back. "She did help us both after the first Games," I admit. "You know, it was nice to just sit there with her."

Dr. Riley nods as if she understands completely. "Of course. I'd imagine it would be nice to have a companion who didn't judge you and ask stupid questions. Someone who just accepted you for who you were and loved you unconditionally."

"Yes," I say, somewhat dazed by her accurate deduction. "That's exactly it."

"Well, I'm not just a pretty face," she shrugs at my expression as a sly smile twists her lips. "Anyway, I think that Maya should be with Peeta as much as possible. If she can sense when he's about to experience a flashback, not only will we know what's coming, but eventually, when Peeta's recovered more, he'll be able to realize it too. Maybe he'll be able to control it."

The idea that Maya could be so beneficial to Peeta's recovery is a relief. This, at least, gives me some hint as to how I could help Peeta. It was definitive. I didn't have to wonder. Maya could help Peeta. Now I had a modicum of a plan.

"That's good," I say with a slight smile. "That's really good."

"Yes," Dr. Riley agrees. "We'll have to see how it goes, of course. But I really do think Maya could help Peeta greatly."

"How are his injuries?" Haymitch suddenly asks. "The kid was really moving there for a minute. Didn't screw himself up more in the process, did he?"

Dr. Riley frowns slightly. "Some of his stitches were torn," she begins. "Honestly, that's all we can physically see. His ribs are fine, surprisingly. Nothing got jarred too much. But I would imagine he'll wake up hurting more than he was previously. His episode would have easily strained his already strained muscles, and don't get me started on the ligaments and tendons in his shoulders . . ." She shakes her head, and sighs. "Long story short, he'll be fine. Just a little more achy than normal."

We all fall into silence for a brief moment before I hesitantly lock eyes with Dr. Riley. "Can I see him?"

"Sweetie, I wish I could send you back in there with no qualms, but I simply can't," she apologizes, looking genuinely sorry. "Give him some time. Until he wakes up and we see how he reacts, I'm not comfortable with you in there. He might wake up, see you, and then fall right back into another episode. His body can't take the stress."

I sigh in resignation, easing to my feet, my shoulders hunched in defeat. My legs carry me to the glass window that looks into Peeta's room. He looks so fragile. All physical evidence of his previous strength has abandoned him. His skin is still tinted with a variety of bruised colors. Various cuts and gashes are bandaged in white linen, starkly contrasting with his already pale skin. His blonde curls are lank with sweat.

Behind me, I hear Haymitch and Dr. Riley carry on a quiet conversation, but I don't bother trying to follow. I'm too focused on Peeta. My memory of his flashback is still fresh in my mind, and I remember distinctly how quickly and efficiently he'd moved, despite the pain his reaction must have caused. I remember the fierceness of his gaze as he vowed not to betray me, to always protect me.

The Capitol may have broken his body, but his spirit remains untarnished.

As long as his spirit is strong, I know that he can recover. I have to believe it. I _must_ believe it. Peeta will come back to me. Just as he promised in the arena. I simply have to be patient. I have to fight for him, because at the moment he's too weak to fight for himself. It's my turn to be the rock. It's my turn to be his steadying presence. It's my turn to take care of him.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Katniss, did you hear me?" Dr. Riley asks in concern.

"No," I admit. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"I'm going to send Rye into Peeta's room," she says. "I want to see how he reacts to someone other than you. Someone he still cares about a great deal. I'm hoping that we might get Peeta to open up a little."

I frown, automatically wary of this idea. "Isn't it too soon?" I argue, glancing back at Peeta's prone form. Random bits of my nightmares flit through my mind at a rapid pace. I try not to shudder. "Shouldn't we let him try to sort things out? We can't push him this early."

"Katniss, the longer we leave him to his thoughts, the more lost to us he might become." Dr. Riley's expression is sympathetic, but firm. I know that I can't win this argument. "We won't push too far, but there's no way to tell how he will react to certain situations if we don't test him."

"He's not some experiment," I retort angrily. "He's been through too much already. I don't need you or anyone else making him feel like he just traded one cell for another."

"Doc's right, sweetheart," Haymitch pipes up, though his expression is grim. "We've got to give him a little push. It's not like we're going to _make_ him talk. If Rye goes in there and Peeta doesn't say a word, we'll accept that. But like you said, he just got back from the Capitol. Do you really want to force everyone to stay away from him? Just on the off-chance he'll be able to pull himself out of it? That's not gonna happen, and you know it."

"I just don't want him to be in pain," I whisper, pleading with them.

"That's not gonna happen, either," Haymitch retorts softly. "You know it and I know it. I know you're trying to protect him, Katniss."

"Then let me."

"Ten minutes," Dr. Riley suddenly interrupts. "Rye has ten minutes, and then he leaves unless Peeta asks him to stay. Deal?"

I bite my lip, thinking. I know that it's the best deal I'm going to get from Dr. Riley. I also know that she's going to do it her way, despite what I say to the contrary. "Deal."

"Thank you." Dr. Riley squeezes my shoulder gently. "I know this is hard for you, Katniss."

I nod in reply, though my eyes never leave Peeta's still form. Dr. Riley leaves the room and within the next second, Rye is entering Peeta's room. She must have had him waiting outside. It irks me that she was going to do things her way despite my protests, but I know that at heart, Dr. Riley cares about Peeta. She wants him to get better, and I grudgingly admit that she knows more about how to do that than I do.

Peeta doesn't stir when Rye enters the room or when he takes a seat at his bedside. Rye looks as lost as I currently feel, and my heart aches for the older Mellark. He has been hurting just as much as I have, and I don't envy the fact that Rye saw where Peeta was kept. I don't want to know what horrors he saw.

"Coin has been asking about you," Haymitch says. Though he's talking to me, both of us continue to stare into Peeta's room as the conversation continues. "Wants you to start Mockingjay duties again."

"Yeah, I might have run into Plutarch earlier," I reply absently. "I think I'm permanently on his bad side now."

"Sounds like you're really torn up about it."

"Oh, yes. My heart is breaking."

In the reflection of the glass, I see the corners of Haymitch's mouth twitch. "Well," he says. "Thought you might want to know that Coin is wanting to send you out to the districts. Wants you to really play it up for the people."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"That's what I told her. I think she has a hearing problem."

"I'm not leaving him, Haymitch. She can't do anything to me right now, and she knows it. Despite what she may like to think, I have the power. And now that we have Peeta, she can't use him to her advantage." I pause to glance briefly at Haymitch. "I know that we'll have to watch our backs. That's nothing new. And I know that in a few months, after the baby is here, we'll have to come up with a plan on how to deal with her."

"But until then?"

My eyes narrow. "Until then, she's just going to have to wait. Peeta is my priority. Besides, when he's recovered, something tells me that he will have a say in how we deal with her."

"I think we should just kill her."

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and wondering when it became acceptable to plot another human being's death and be perfectly okay with it. "That's one option," I admit, refusing to agree with him just yet.

I refocus my attention on Rye and Peeta. Rye is speaking softly so I only catch every other word, but it still doesn't make much sense. He must simply be rambling about nothing, merely filling the silence. After about five minutes, Rye laughs weakly before saying, "Hey, you want to hear a joke?" At Peeta's silence, he continues. "A man cheats on his girlfriend named Lorraine with a girl named Clearly. Suddenly, Lorraine dies. At the funeral, the man stands up and sings, 'I can see Clearly now, Lorraine is gone.'" Rye chuckles. "Get it? It's funny." Peeta still doesn't wake. "When something's funny, one typically laughs."

"I'm laughing on the inside," Peeta murmurs with his eyes still closed, causing Rye to startle before his grin threatens to split his face in two.

"I knew you were faking," Rye says smartly.

"The hell you did."

"Why are your eyes still closed?"

"Because I don't want to see your ugly face." Peeta's eyes flutter open to look at his brother. "I'm in enough pain as it is."

Rye's smile falls a little. "Yeah, well you're not looking too hot either, Mr. Blonde, Buff, and Beautiful."

"Sorry," Peeta retorts. "Torture really doesn't promote good looks. The prep team they gave me really had a time fixing me up anytime I had to do an interview."

My breath catches in my throat at his blunt statement, but even more so the ease in which it was said. It's like the events don't bother him. It's almost like he thinks it's normal. In the other room, Rye looks just as shocked as I am.

Hesitantly, he asks, "What about your prep team?"

"Dead." Peeta answers in an impassive voice. "Shot."

Rye swallows before venturing to ask, "How do you know?"

"Because it happened right in front of me," Peeta responds, his voice as impassive as before. "It was before my first interview with Caesar. They led me into a room. I'd just gotten out of the hospital. I thought I was being led into a Remake Room." I know that Peeta is reliving it all in his mind. A hazy look as entered his eye as his mind transports him back in time. "I walked into the room, and there they were. Portia, Amicus, Cassius, and Aurora. They were on their knees, all of them sporting bruises and cuts. The Peacekeepers holding them must have gotten bored before I arrived."

"So they beat them up to pass the time?" Rye asks with a mix of horror and shock.

Peeta is nonplussed.

"You know, most Peacekeepers aren't from the Capitol. They're actually from District 2. Just imagine Cato, but with the immunity of a Peacekeeper's uniform." Peeta's eyes narrow dangerously. "Like Cato, they're cruel and merciless . . . and they also have the attention span of a fruit fly. They get bored."

"So what happened?"

It's easy to see that Rye knows the answer. Peeta already gave him the answer. But Peeta is talking, slowly revealing just a sliver of the horror he experienced . . . and like the morbid, masochistic people we are . . . a sick part of our curiosity wants to know what happened.

"Each of them had a gun to their heads," Peeta replies coolly. "I walked in. They pulled the trigger. They allowed just enough time for me to see . . . for me to know that their deaths were my fault."

"It wasn't your fault," Rye argues. "You didn't pull the trigger."

"No, but I put the gun in their hands."

"Peeta, you can't do this to yourself. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. The blame rests with the Capitol. You know that."

"Don't tell me what I know!" Peeta suddenly shouts, his eyes blazing. "You don't know anything! You've been safe here in 13 with Katniss! You've been here with _my_ wife, doing _my_ job, while I've been sitting in a cell completely useless!"

"Calm down, man." Rye tries to soothe with a calm voice, but it has no effect. "Seriously, dude, take a breath. I know you've been through a lot—"

"What do you know about what I've been through?" Peeta spits venomously. "You weren't the one rotting in a cell. A tomb. You weren't the one who was tortured for days on end for information that you didn't have. You know I died three times in there?" A manic light has entered Peeta's eyes, and I know that he's about to have a flashback.

I also know that it's too late to stop it. Still, I turn to Haymitch. "We've got to get the doctors," I tell him hurriedly, but my mentor is already moving toward the door, shouting for help.

My attention returns to Peeta, who is still spitting scathingly at his brother, hatred shining in his eyes. "And three times they brought me back. Just so they could torture me some more. Just so they could ask me the _same damn questions_ that they _knew_ I couldn't answer!" Tears cloud Rye's eyes, but Peeta is oblivious to the pain he's causing his brother. "So many times, I thought I was going to die. I _wanted_ to die. I wanted to die just to make the pain stop. Because those three times I died, they were the happiest memories I have of that place."

Rye's tears spill over, sliding slowly down his cheeks as Peeta continues to explain in vicious detail just a smidgen of what he endured. My own tears have escaped me, blurring my vision and stinging my eyes. I don't bother wiping them away.

"What about Katniss?"

Peeta stops mid-rant. His eyes lose their angry, manic light and in its place is sadness so deep that it reaches his very soul. Worse is the guilt that swirls within the despair. Savage claws dig into my heart with a vice-like grip at the pain in his eyes, pain for which I am responsible.

"Katniss." Peeta chokes on my name. "I couldn't . . . I'd promised that I . . ." He struggles to find the words. "I'd promised that I would come back to her. It's what got me through every day. I just needed to remember her face. I just needed to remember that she needed me. I would think of the baby, how I couldn't leave her to raise our child alone. But . . . with each cut . . . each beating . . . each shock . . . it became harder and harder to remember, to remember why I wanted to live. Because when you're in that much pain . . . Death is your best friend."

"He calls to you," Peeta continues, almost in a trance. "Whispers things. Promises to end your pain. He promises you peace. In that place, in that torture chamber, Death is like an angel in Hell. He wants to save you . . . and so you let him."

"They're on their way," Haymitch says in a huff as he runs back into the room. "Is it worse?"

My sobs are his only answer.

"But Katniss . . ." Rye manages to speak through his tears.

"Katniss." Peeta repeats my name softly. "Everything was for her. Everything is always for her." Suddenly, he begins to tremble. "I-It's always for her. She's . . . she's my . . . my reason for . . . for . . ."

Peeta's trembles cease as the doctors finally rush into the room. They huddle around him, but he doesn't react at all. It's like he doesn't know that they're there. His sightless blue eyes simply stare at the glass wall, like he's looking right at me. Right through me.

"Haymitch," I whisper tremulously. "What's happening?"

Haymitch appears as shocked and disturbed as I am. "I don't know, sweetheart. I don't know."

We stare through the glass in silence, watching as the doctors try to get a response from Peeta. Rye is asked to leave the room, and he does so with a heavy heart, each of his steps seeming to require an immense amount of effort. I don't turn when I hear the door to the room open, or when I feel his presence on my right.

Wordlessly, I take his hand.

Rye, Haymitch, and I stand as silent sentinels for the next twenty minutes. Neither of us acknowledging the other, but sharing our mutual pain. Eventually, the door opens a second time and I know by the click of her heels that it's Dr. Riley.

With great effort, I tear my eyes away from Peeta, turning around to face the doctor. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me; a woman with tear-stained cheeks and red eyes, cradling her distended stomach in an attempt to hold herself together. Or, perhaps, does she see beyond that? Does she see the pain in my eyes? Does she see the determination despite that pain? What does she see?

"You need to rest, Katniss," she says as a greeting. "You need to be away from this stress."

I scoff. "Distance won't solve a damn thing."

"You might be surprised."

A part of my mind catalogs the weariness in my bones, the fatigue in my muscles, the heaviness of my eyelids. Sleep does sound like a blissful escape . . . but I can't possibly find that peace yet. Not with Peeta in this state.

"What's wrong with Peeta?" I ask forcefully. "What's happening?"

Dr. Riley sighs, knowing that her best bet of getting me to sleep will be answering my questions. "You could say that he's had another flashback," she replies. "Only this one isn't active. This one is much more internal. Peeta's retreated into his mind, to protect himself."

"How do we bring him back?" Haymitch demands. "Spill it, Doc."

"I'm afraid there's no real solution," Dr. Riley explains. "I don't have a guidebook giving me step by step instructions on how to treat him. A lot of this is trial and error—"

"—emphasis on the error—" Rye interrupts with a mutter.

Dr. Riley glares at him. "Yes, Mr. Mellark, right now there's been a lot of error," she admits. "But, no matter the consequences of your talk with your brother, it was very helpful."

"I sent him into a flashback!" Rye argues. "I made him relive everything!"

"Hardly," Dr. Riley retorts crisply. "It's sad, but true." Her expression melts into one of sympathy as she locks eyes with me. "Katniss, I was able to learn quite a lot from Rye's conversation with Peeta. It's painfully obvious that he's trying to make himself detached. Detachment means less pain. But Peeta is not an emotionless person. From what you've told me, he's always been very in tune with his emotions and the emotions of others. That's easily seen here. He simply isn't allowing himself to feel. It's a way of protecting himself."

Dr. Riley pauses, as if to see that I'm following her explanation. I nod, and she nods in return before continuing. "It's also incredibly obvious that you are still the center of his world. You are his reason for living. You're what got him through his capture, and you'll be the one to get him through his recovery. He loves you more than anything, and he knows that, but at the same time he also feels great guilt. For being absent when you needed him. I imagine that guilt will continue to be heavily involved in his recovery. Somehow, you're going to have to convince him that he did the right thing."

"Of course he did the right thing—" I argue incredulously. "He was protecting me."

"Yes, but at what cost?" Dr. Riley retorts. "He's missed these crucial months of your pregnancy. Left you here in 13, a completely foreign place, to deal with everything by yourself. He feels guilty that he wasn't there for you, but at the same time knows that he was doing the right thing by leaving you and allowing himself to be captured by the Capitol. It's a double-edged sword."

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to try to calm my frazzled nerves. Of course Peeta would feel guilty for something that was completely beyond his control. Of course he would feel guilty for seemingly abandoning me, even when he knew that he didn't. He sacrificed himself. He knew that. I knew that.

And yet he still felt guilty. Because by saving my life, he left me to face the world without him. It was so typically Peeta that I didn't know whether to laugh, scream, or cry.

"Okay," I say softly. "I'll get it through his thick skull. Eventually."

"Good luck with that one," Haymitch mutters. "Kid is way too noble."

"Yeah, he should try to be selfish once in a while," Rye adds. "It would be good for him."

I almost smile. Almost.

"How do we snap him out of this?" I ask Dr. Riley. "Tell me."

"I'm afraid all you can do is try to talk him out of it," she answers, frustrated by how little she can help. "And I'm betting on you, sweetie."

I ignore how her words mirror Cinna's. I can't afford to rehash that wound. So I take a deep breath and wordlessly walk out the door. Maya follows and immediately launches into Peeta's room the minute I open the door. She takes up the space at the foot of the bed, facing the door, acting every inch the guardian she is.

I carefully sit on the edge of Peeta's bed, laying a gentle hand on his chest. His open, sightless eyes stare ahead of him, and I fumble my words as I try to find something to say. "Peeta." No reaction. "Peeta, come back to me. You promised."

Unfortunately, these words do not have the same effect as they did earlier. Peeta simply continues to stare.

"Peeta, you have to come back," I tell him softly. "I've been without you for too long. You can't leave me like this."

Still no reaction. Not even a twitch.

"Damn it, Peeta!" I hiss in anger and despair. "Are you seriously going to do this? Are you really going to give in, now? After all that you've gone through? Don't take the easy way out, Peeta. Don't do it!"

Nothing.

"Come on." I'm pleading now. I caress his bruised cheekbone. Sweep the some of his curls out of his eyes. Gently, I take his hand and place it on my stomach, and repeat the same words I spoke as the arena flamed around us. "I can't do this without you," I whisper. "I can't _survive_ without you."

My words hang suspended in the air, hovering over us, as if they're slowly penetrating Peeta's subconscious. I wait with bated breath, my heart hammering in my chest as I clutch the tenuous hope floating within me. Seconds tick by as Peeta remains in this catatonic state, and just as I feel myself begin to despair . . . Peeta blinks.

"Katniss?" he questions confused. "What happened? What—"

I watch as the memory slowly comes back to him. I watch as he retreats into himself once more, forcing himself not to feel the emotion raging inside of him. "Peeta," I begin, but he cuts me off.

"You were never supposed to hear that," he says. "You were never supposed to know."

"It doesn't matter—"

"Yes it does."

"All that matters is that you're here," I say firmly. "You're with me."

"Then why do I feel as if that part of myself died in that cell?"

I don't have an answer.

* * *

**Well . . . that was fun. Not a crazy, thrashing flashback this time. We got a frozen like a statue, trapped in the horrors of your own mind flashback. Can't decide which I like best. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm all for Peeta punching doctors and being a beast.**

**So! Dr. Riley has her words of wisdom. I do wish she were real and not a figment of my imagination. That would be awesome. And Rye cried. I seriously hate seeing someone so happy and light crying. That sucks. But, alas, it had to be done.**

**And Katniss . . . you've got to give her kudos. **

**The summary for the following chapter is as follows: Katniss cried again; Haymitch put on the daddypants; Dr. Riley proved that she's related to Gandalf; Peeta made Rye cry playing freeze tag; and Peeta is awesome at the quiet game and new besties with Death **

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Peeta!**

** "Well woman, I'm madly in love with you. What do you expect?"**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**

**P.S. My midterms are this week. I hate midterms. They're worse than finals. At least with finals, they're, well, _final_. So, pretty, pretty, please review and sweeten my Monday. Pretty please. With ice cream. And whipped cream. And strawberries. And chocolate. Lots of it.**


	16. Livin' On A Prayer

**A/N: Hello, beautiful people! Oh, how I love you! We are so close to 900 people! 900! For only 15 chapters. Yes, you are all awesome.**

**I am so glad that all of you liked the flashback from the last chapter. Good news is that this chapter doesn't have a flashback! In fact, there's a lot of Peeta in this chapter, both in dream form and in real form so I hope that you guys get your fill!**

**And note the song title for this chapter! Bon Jovi . . . yes, he's a very sexy man . . . and has the best hair . . . I mean, really. It's amazing. So! They're livin' on a prayer! Moderately hopeful sounding, right?**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Me: You guys! You guys! I have an announcement to make.**

******************************************Peeta: Yeah?**

******************************************Me: (gathers courage) I love you.**

******************************************Katniss: What?**

******************************************Me: (nods) I can't keep my feelings to myself any longer! I love you, Peeta. SO MUCH.**

******************************************Katniss: Back off! He's MINE.**

******************************************Me: (glares) Oh? Remind me who controls everything you do?**

******************************************Peeta: Okay, okay . . . um . . . wow, this is awkward . . .**

******************************************Me: It's okay, Peeta. Our love can conquer all . . .**

******************************************Peeta: But I don't . . .**

******************************************Me: Sshh . . . (places finger on his lips) Trust me, darling. Our love is eternal.**

******************************************Rye: Anyone else think this is creepy?**

******************************************Katniss: (grabs her bow and strings an arrow) I will give you three seconds to step away from my man.**

******************************************Me: (holds Peeta closer) No!**

******************************************Katniss: One . . . **

*******************************************nervously fidget***

******************************************Katniss: Two . . .**

*******************************************swallows convulsively in fear before glancing longingly at Peeta***

******************************************Katniss: Three!**

******************************************Me: Flee!**

* * *

Chapter 16: Livin' On A Prayer

_We've got to hold on to what we've got_

_'Cause it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not  
_

_We've got each other, and that's a lot for love  
_

_We'll give it a shot  
_

* * *

_I open my eyes slowly, blinking against the shadows of the night. Is it night? Or am I simply smothered in darkness? As my eyes adjust to the blackness, the aches of my body make themselves known with a vicious, agonized cry. My shoulders are consumed by a fiery pain that is echoed in my ribs. I shift tentatively, biting back a curse at the zinging pain the faint movement caused. A deep cut on my chest continues to ooze blood, slowly but surely. That's what caused my lapse into unconsciousness: pain and blood loss._

_Pressing my lips together tightly to halt the curses that would surely spew forth, I shift my body once again, trying to find a more suitable position. The pain is blinding, threatening to take me back into the void of unconsciousness, but I manage to force myself to stay present._

_I'm sad to say that I've grown used to tolerating vast amounts of pain._

_After the pain of my movement recedes, I'm able to feel a slight relief of pressure on my shoulders. However, the pain has now increased in my chest. I almost smile. I just can't seem to win these days._

"_There's no comfortable position, regrettably." I glance to my right, toward the voice. Peeta sits beside me, grinning and looking perfectly relaxed in this dark, horrid place. He's wearing dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt that contrasts nicely with his tanned skin. His golden curls hang slightly in his eyes as he bends his head to look at me. "How are you holding up?"_

_I sigh wearily, leaning my head against his shoulder despite the pain. Peeta wraps his arm around me, and I snuggle into his chest, pain be damned. "It's not easy," I finally answer after a minute. "You're stubborn."_

_Peeta chuckles and my eyes close at the sound. "Come on, beautiful, cut me some slack. It's been a rough few months for me."_

"_To put it lightly."_

"_Like a feather."_

_I roll my eyes as my lips twitch in amusement. "You're healing up nicely," I tell him. "The bruises are gone, the superficial cuts have healed. You're getting some of your color back. Not quite as pale, anymore."_

"_Good," Peeta says with a smile. "I hate being pale as a ghost." I frown at his words, and he notices. "Katniss?"_

_I try to sort through my thoughts. "It's just that . . . when I'm with you . . . you're not all there. Right now you're simply a ghost of your former self."_

"_That was fairly poetic," Peeta replies. "I must be rubbing off on you."_

"_Peeta," I chastise, and he sobers slightly._

"_I'm sorry, Katniss," he apologizes, hugging me tighter. Somehow I don't feel the pain the action should have caused. "I know what you mean. But you got to know that I'm in there. You just got to bring me out of myself. I'll fight you, because it's so much safer where I'm at in my head now. The pain is dulled. The memories are fresh, but seem unreal. I'm afraid to feel, because I know it's going to hurt. And, damn it all, I'm still trying to be strong. For you."_

"_For me?"_

"_Yes, for you," Peeta replies with an amused smile. "Everything I do, I do for you. I've got the idea in my head that if I show you the pain I'm truly in, it'll only add to your pain. Of course, I'm right about that. In a way."_

"_I know how much pain you're in," I retort as my anger begins to bubble in my chest. "Just because you're trying to hide it, doesn't mean that I can't see it. What makes me hurt more is the fact that you are trying to hide it. I know that it hurts you. When you hurt, I hurt."_

"_Yeah, well . . ." Peeta sighs before shrugging slightly. "I haven't been very sociable lately. Maybe I can't read people like I used to."_

"_Or maybe you're simply doing what you want," I retort. "Maybe you're not ready to deal with the pain."_

_Peeta frowns, leaning his head back against the stone wall. "Maybe," he admits. His eyes scan the cell that we're currently sitting in, taking his time to stare at each and every dull, red stain that scars the stone floor, the splatter that dots some of the walls. "What happened in here," he begins quietly. "It's beyond description. I can't tell you how much this place haunts me. I lost so much of myself in these four walls . . . some of which I'll never regain."_

"_I'm sorry."_

"_Don't be." Peeta gently tips my chin up so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. "I don't regret a single minute I spent in this place," he says softly. "You're worth it."_

"_But you still feel guilty about it," I retort. "You regret not being able to be with me."_

"_Well duh," Peeta says with an eye roll. "Katniss, I missed this." He lays a hand on my round stomach. "I missed watching you grow, watching our baby grow. I wasn't there for you like I should have been. I wasn't there to go to doctor's appointments. I wasn't there to see your face light up when you felt the baby move for the first time." His face darkens slightly. "I wasn't there to protect you from Coin's manipulation. I wasn't there to support you. I simply wasn't there." Peeta sighs heavily. "And I know that you don't begrudge me for any of it. And I also know that however much it sucks, it was better for me to be here in this hellhole, because the alternative is unthinkable."_

"_You try to do too much," I tell him softly._

"_Well, woman, I'm madly in love with you," he replies quickly. "What do you expect?" Despite everything, I laugh. Pain laces through my body at the action, and I suck in a sharp breath. "Easy," Peeta soothes. "Laughing with busted ribs is not conducive to a pain-free environment."_

_I close my eyes and lean further into his chest, relishing the fact that it holds the strength it did before. "I love you," I whisper. "No matter what."_

"_That's a good thing," Peeta says, planting a light kiss in my hair. "Because, as much as it pains me to admit it, I'm going to test that theory."_

"_It's not a theory." I shake my head, nuzzling his chest in the process. "It's a fact."_

"_Eh, I still think we should test this theory. Just to make sure."_

"_You want me to prove it to you?"_

_Mischief dances in Peeta's blue eyes as he nods, a devilish grins stretching his lips. "I think it's only fair."_

_Ignoring the pain of my aching body, I wrap my arms around his neck. "Are you sure you're not doing this just for fun?" I tease._

"_Of course it's just for fun," Peeta replies with a chuckle. "But it doesn't detract from the gravity of the situation, Mrs. Mellark. It's not nice to toy with my feelings."_

_By now, my lips are hovering just over his. "Well, I'm not known for being nice."_

_The electricity that lights my veins the moment our lips finally touch is enough to shock my entire system with pleasure. Fire of the most delicious kind burns in my stomach as our lips move together. My hands tangle in his hair as he deepens the kiss, muffling my moan of approval. The kiss goes on and on, but the necessity of oxygen forces us apart._

"_Well?" I ask breathlessly. _

"_Mrs. Mellark, I think you love me," Peeta replies with a smile before adding seriously, "But I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to prove it again."_

_I pretend to be outraged. "What about your love for me? Why don't you prove your love?"_

_Peeta suddenly smirks. "Because the stone floor would tear up your back."_

"_Peeta Mellark!"_

"_What? It's true."_

"_You're so, so . . ."_

"_Devilishly charming? Incredibly sexy?"_

"_I was going to say ridiculously horny."_

"_That too."_

_Before I can blink, Peeta claims my lips for another kiss, and I forget my ire at his audacity. My senses are overwhelmed by Peeta. Sight, smell, sound, touch, taste . . . I catalog it all in my mind. The sight of his blue eyes smoldering with passionate love. The smell of cinnamon that always clings to him. The sound of his moan that only I have to the power to provoke. The taste that is uniquely him. I'm so lost in him that it takes me a few moments to realize that Peeta is trying to pull away from me. With a frown, I release my grip on his hair so I can look at his face._

"_What?" I ask in frustration. "Why'd you stop?"_

"_Because you're about to wake up."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because the baby is resting right on your bladder, and you've got to pee."_

_My face falls. "You've got to be kidding me."_

"_No."_

"_You're such a mood killer."_

With a start, I jerk into consciousness and growl in frustration as I toss back the covers. After I take care of my business, I return to the room and flick on the lamp, blinking against the dull light. "Crazy pregnancy dreams," I mutter to myself as I begin getting ready for the day.

At least twice a week since Peeta's return, I have had the same basic dream. I'm in his cell in the Capitol, feeling every facet of pain he experienced, and Peeta—a healthy, strong, fully recovered Peeta—will keep me company. We'll talk about everything and nothing. Sometimes he'll simply hold me. And then there are times like today when we would talk about him, the real Peeta that currently lies in the hospital.

Despite the oddity of my dreams, I find them extremely helpful. Peeta has great advice to offer me about himself. Shocker, I know, but it's true. In the past three weeks since Peeta's return, I've employed my dream Peeta's advice numerous occasions. When to push. When to give him space. What to say. When to listen.

Since Peeta's return, the results of his capture have revealed themselves fully. Although physically his healing is moving along nicely, his emotional healing hasn't even begun. His bruises are gone. His superficial cuts have healed. But the scars remain.

He hates them, the scars. Sometimes I'll catch him glaring at them, his eyes darkened with anger. I don't know whether he's angry at the person who put them there or that they make his experience impossible for him to forget. Most likely both.

He wants to forget, I can tell. Sometimes he'll close his eyes but never sleep. As if he's trying to force all the memories, all the pain, into a tiny box in the deepest part of his mind. When he opens his eyes, finally, I know that he's succeeded partially in his attempt. His face will be expressionless, his blue eyes that once sparkled will be dulled. His voice will be calm and steady but devoid of emotion.

Dr. Riley says that it's Peeta's attempt to take control of the situation. By controlling his feelings, he feels as though he's in command of himself. It reassures him. It helps him to believe that he is still his own person, that the Capitol didn't take away his strength and independence.

But his control is lost in the night, when he's plagued with nightmares.

They're terrible to witness. Night terrors, Dr. Riley calls them. Nightmares so real that Peeta can't wake up from them. When they occur he has to be sedated, so that he slips into a realm of sleep that is untouched by dreams. Even my singing cannot calm him when the terrors have him in their clutches.

In the past weeks, we've also learned that Peeta is afraid of the dark. Although he's never voiced his fear, I could tell. The tenseness of his muscles when the lights would go out at night were a sign of his discomfort. Wordlessly, I'd brightened the room, though I kept the light extremely dim. Just enough light so he could see the room and anyone in it. And, like Johanna, he also as an adverse reaction to running water. Although his fear as not nearly as strong as Johanna's, he's still extremely wary.

He's also hyper vigilant, even when it's just him and me in the room. Every unexpected sound causes him to jump. Every person who enters the room is automatically greeted with suspicion and distrust. Any human touch to his skin causes him to stiffen. He doesn't like lying underneath the hospital blankets because it limits his movement, making it harder for him to defend himself should someone attack him.

But I've seen brief glimpses of the Peeta I remember. In the way he responds to Maya, who is constantly with him. In the way he makes sure to ask Rye about his day when he comes to visit after his training. In the way he'll beat Haymitch at chess when they play every day at noon, and the small smirk that will appear on his face at the victory. But the one that means the most to me is when I walk through the door every morning, he smiles.

It's not a bright smile. It's not even a happy smile. It's a smile of relief. Relief that I returned, that I didn't abandon him, that I haven't given up on him. Though it pains me that he thinks I might leave him, I still relish that smile.

As I step out of my room and begin the long trek to the elevator, I ponder the day I face. It's sure to be a long one. Now that Peeta has been given proper care and had some time to recover, he's been growing anxious. He hates being in the hospital, though I think it has more to do with the fact that he's been kept in the same room in the entire time. He wants a change of scenery.

To Peeta, I'm sure his hospital room seems like yet another cell.

Therefore, in yet another desire to exert control over his situation, for the last few days Peeta has been arguing (quite loudly) with Dr. Riley to heal his ribs. Without special medicine to expedite the process, his ribs will take months to heal on their own, and Peeta can't stand the idea of being hindered that long. So, when Dr. Riley, in a rare thoughtless moment, mentioned a special series of shots that could heal his ribs completely in a matter of hours, Peeta immediately latched onto the idea. It didn't matter to him that when the process was explained fully it was revealed to be an incredibly painful procedure. I still remember his response perfectly.

_Trust me, Doc. It's nothing I can't handle. I won't say a word._

Though it rankled, Dr. Riley had finally conceded defeat yesterday after a third heated argument with Peeta. I told her the first day she mentioned it that there was no point in arguing with him, but she seemed to think otherwise. I'll have to resist the urge later today to give her a smug, "I told you so" look.

I glance at the modest watch on my wrist supplied by District 13—0800. Peeta's procedure is starting. I wanted to be there, but Peeta had been vehement that I be absent. I don't know whether it's the fact that he doesn't want me to see him in pain or the simple fact that he just doesn't want me there. Either way, his brief banishment hurts. When he'd issued his edict I had debated arguing with him, but when I'd looked into his eyes, I could see how much my absence mattered to him. So I swallowed my retort and resumed my place at his side, beginning a conversation about Rye's most recent prank instead.

Peeta's return seems to have sparked Rye's more mischievous side that had been dormant for far too long . . . and the people of District 13 are paying the consequences. He started out small: a tack on Boggs's chair, rewiring the radio in the cafeteria to play something called the "Imperial March," and somehow greasing one of the obstacle courses on the training field so that it was impossible to complete without falling on your face. However, Rye's most recent and currently greatest triumph, as I'd explained to Peeta, was that somehow, Rye had managed to sneak into one of the control rooms and reprogram everyone's schedules to say, "Chaos, Panic, Pandemonium—My work here is done."

To me, I find the fact that he hasn't been caught to be his greatest prank of all.

When the elevator doors finally open, they reveal Prim. She smiles at me as I step into the steel box. "Good morning," she says brightly. "How are you?"

"As good as I can be."

Prim frowns. "The procedure will proceed without a hitch," she tries to assure me. "Dr. Riley is overseeing it herself."

"I'm not worried about that." I shake my head and sigh. "It's Peeta, I'm worried about."

"You think he's trying to do too much." Prim says, not as a question but as a fact.

I nod.

"Think about it Katniss, he's been without the power to do anything for too long. He had no control in the Capitol, and even here, he's still under Dr. Riley's orders. By doing this procedure, he'll at least be able to leave the hospital, especially since he's passed the majority of his psych evaluations."

That was another thing. The only thing that truly kept Peeta in the hospital for three weeks was malnutrition and his psyche. For the first week he was extremely volatile. His flashbacks were vicious and wholly consuming, and he'd given his fair share of bruises to his attending physicians as a result. No matter how calmly they approached him, he still saw it as an attack and he'd try to take them out. Maya's continual presence by his side helped, but once he got caught up in a flashback, she was of no use. All she could give was a warning of what was to come.

However, for the last few weeks, his flashbacks seemed to have stopped. Dr. Riley can't explain it and her lack of understanding vexes her. Her best guess is that Peeta is suppressing his memories extremely well, and this troubles her more than his now less than frequent flashbacks. As far as I can tell, she simply sees Peeta as a time bomb. She is waiting for the moment when he can't suppress his captivity anymore, when it will become too much, and he will explode. She is terrified of the results.

But with Peeta seeming more and more in control of himself, Dr. Riley had no choice but to sign off on the majority of his psych evaluations. Because in all honesty, Peeta _did_ pass them. However, that didn't mean that she was releasing him from the hospital.

Much to Peeta's annoyance.

Dr. Riley's contingency plan is that until she deems Peeta at full mental capacity, he has to stay in the hospital. Because, as she told him bluntly when he began to argue, "Mr. Mellark, I can't release you despite your miraculous penchant for memory suppression. It'll be my head on a platter when you snap, and you _will_ snap. It's just a matter of time. And until that happens and you deal with the fallout, hell will freeze over before I let you out of here completely."

I've never seen Peeta so angry. However, what was scarier than his fury was how he locked it inside himself.

Like Dr. Riley, I am also terrified of what will happen when Peeta finally snaps.

"You know he can only leave the hospital if a guard accompanies him," I tell Prim.

"Yes, but it's better than being trapped in his room all day. Besides, I think it will be good for him."

_Until he attacks a random stranger because they might look like one of his "interrogators,"_ I think sarcastically.

Prim must see my indecision because she sighs. "Look, I know that he's far from healed. It'll be months, maybe years before that happens, but he has to start somewhere, Katniss. We can't keep him caged; he'll just fight us more than he already is." She has a point. For the past few days, Peeta has been taking insubordination to a whole new level. "Besides, you can't tell me that you don't want him out of the hospital. You miss him."

Oh, yes. I miss him, more than anyone could ever conceive. I miss his smile. I miss his laugh. I miss the way his eyes would sparkle. I miss his easy-going nature. I miss the way he seems to know what I am thinking. I miss him. Dearly.

The saddest part of it all is that I know Peeta misses me just as much . . . and yet we still can't seem to connect like we used to. Every day it's becoming clearer and clearer—we have to fall in love all over again.

And that's something that Prim, despite her young wisdom, cannot understand.

"I do miss him," I reply. "But that doesn't change the fact that I still don't think he's ready for all that he thinks he is."

My answer seems to grate on Prim's nerves. "You know, Katniss, I never thought I'd say this, but I can't believe you're losing faith in him."

Before I can respond, the elevator doors open and Prim steps out quickly. I watch her retreating form until the closing elevator doors block her from view, leaving me wondering if she's right. Have I lost faith in Peeta? No. No, I don't think that I have. However, I think in the past weeks I've realized that Peeta has limits. He's not invincible, like I think he would like to believe, especially now. And if he's going to be in denial of the fact, I have to be the one to remind him.

I'm so lost in thought that the next time the elevator doors open, I step off without giving a thought to what level it is. After blinking, mentally chastising myself for being an idiot, and surveying my surroundings, I realize that I'm on the Special Defense floor.

Knowing that I have hours to kill before I'm allowed to see Peeta, I decide to drop in and visit Beetee. I have hardly seen him since Peeta's return. Quite frankly, I haven't seen anyone since Peeta's return that isn't directly involved in his recovery.

Everyone stares at me when I enter Special Defense. I don't particularly know why. It's not as though they've never seen me down here. Is it my now painfully obvious pregnant belly? The fact that Peeta's return sparked so much attention?

And, of course, there are the pitiful rumors about a rift between myself and Rye now that Peeta has returned. My eyes narrow at the reminder of some people's ignorance. Honestly, how these rumors about Rye and I ever got started is beyond me. The idea of me being with anyone other than Peeta is just . . . weird.

I find Beetee in one of the research rooms, but am mildly surprised to find Gale as well. The two of them are hunched over a desk covered with schematics. Beetee is taking a measurement on one of the drawings as Gale keeps it flat on the desk. My eyes rove around the cramped room that is littered with drawings of similar design to the one Beetee and Gale are currently examining. Displayed prominently on corkboard walls and computer screens are designs of the same type. Vaguely, in one drawing, I recognize Gale's twitch-up snare.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What are these?" I ask curiously, catching their attention.

"Ah, Katniss, you've found us out," Beetee says with a smile, as if my intrusion on their little secret doesn't bother him.

Gale, however, seems uncomfortable with my presence, although I don't particularly know why.

"Is that what you've been conspiring with Gale?" I ask Beetee, choosing to ignore Gale for the moment.

"Yes, I'm sorry if I've been stealing him away from you."

My answering smile is slightly forced. Given the fact that I've barely left Peeta's side since his return, I can't say that Gale's absence has even been noted by my overwhelmed brain. I don't know whether to be guilty or worried that I've so easily forgotten my best friend.

"I hope you've been putting his time to good use."

"Come and see," he says, waving me over to a computer screen.

Beetee proceeds to explain in great detail what exactly it is that required him to requisition Gale's help: bombs. Bombs of all kinds, all based on many of Gale's traps that he would use when hunting. It's not so much the mechanics of the traps, but the psychology that shows their brilliance. Booby-trapping an area that provides something essential to survival, like a water or food supply. Frightening prey so that a large number flee into a greater danger. Endangering offspring in order to draw in the actual desired target, the parent.

This plan is the one that truly makes my skin crawl.

On and on Beetee continues and my horror grows. Somewhere along the line, Gale and Beetee forgot the wilderness and focused on human impulses, like compassion. A bomb explodes. Time is allowed for people to rush to the aid of the wounded. Then, a second, more powerful bomb kills them as well.

"That seems to be crossing some kind of line," I tell them after Beetee finally runs out of words. "So anything goes?" My comment seems to hit home for Beetee, who looks doubtful, but the opposite is true for Gale. He glares at me with hostility and something like defiance. "I guess there isn't a rule book for what might be unacceptable to do to another human being."

"Sure there is," Gale retorts cuttingly. "Beetee and I have been following the same rule book President Snow used when he tortured Peeta."

His cruel, blunt words shock me into silence, and it takes me a second or two to recover from his verbal assault. "What?"

"Come on, Katniss. This is war. There's no time to show mercy," Gale says coldly. "Snow certainly didn't."

My jaw clenches in anger. "No," I agree. "He didn't. But I'm not about to stand here and praise you for your good work. Yes, this is a war, but if we don't grant mercy, then we're no better than Snow." I glare at Gale. "And if you don't realize that, then you're allowing yourself to become who you hate."

Gale's gaze hardens. "I can't believe you're defending them."

"I'm not defending them, but I'm not so blind as to think that everyone in the Capitol is evil and deserves to die!"

"Look at what they did to Peeta! I've seen him! He's not even the same person! He might still be alive, but he died in that cell! The Capitol did that!"

"No! Snow did that!" I hiss as angry tears fall from my eyes. "Snow is responsible. Just him. And I want to see him dead more than anyone, so don't you dare tell me that I don't know who is responsible!"

And before I say something that I might regret, I turn on my heel and walk as fast as I can out of Special Defense. I punch the button for the elevator and impatiently tap my foot as I wait for the doors to open, wiping furiously at my tears.

I'm thankful that the elevator is empty when the doors finally open. There's no telling what my pregnancy hormones would provoke me to do. Best case scenario, I would have screamed at him or her to get out of my elevator. Worst case scenario I would have wanted them to hug me.

I'm really glad no one is on the elevator.

As the elevator takes me up to the hospital floor, I try to pull myself together. If I'm to see Peeta, I need to be as calm as possible. I wish that I could go in bawling my eyes out and know that it wouldn't matter, that he would automatically take me in his arms and hold me. But, regrettably, I have no idea what my tears might provoke him to do, and I'm too scared to find out. The one time I've let him see me cry since his return, he merely watched my tears fall. Yes, he'd squeezed my hand just a little tighter, but I selfishly wanted more.

And so when the elevator doors open, my tears have ceased. Head held high, I walk through the now very familiar hallways to Peeta's room. I've been here so often, I can even recognize the nurses who work in the ward. I don't know their names, of course. I suck at names. Peeta was the one who could remember names, even if he only met the person once.

When I turn the final corner that leads to Peeta's room, I notice a new face. A nurse, one that I've never seen before, is pushing a cart of laundry. Now, normally I wouldn't find this at all suspicious, except that I knew for a fact that only specialized nurses in psychological recovery worked in this ward, and I happened to know every single one of them by sight.

This girl was not one of them.

My eyes narrow as I remember a conversation with Haymitch earlier this week. Naturally, my refusal to leave Peeta's side for Mockingjay duties was met with resistance. Even more strain was brought to the situation because I wouldn't allow anyone from the Capitol near Peeta. Dr. Riley supported my stance, because there's no telling what Peeta's reaction would be. However, President Coin seemed to think differently.

But that didn't matter, because I had the power and I was finally not afraid to assert it. It really must rankle to know that she couldn't hold dominion over me any longer. She had no leverage. Not anymore.

And Haymitch took the opportunity one day earlier this week to tell her. Of course, he never outright said it, that would be too bold, even for him, but it was most certainly implied. Coin tried to force Dr. Riley into telling her about Peeta's condition, but Dr. Riley invoked patient confidentiality and promptly left the room without being dismissed. If she wasn't the best doctor in 13, and an OB/GYN at that, I'm pretty sure that she would have lost her job—at least.

Left with few options, Coin resorted to the oldest trick in the book: spying. Already, in the past five days since Haymitch gave me the heads up that she might try something, I've chased off two of her spies. One was Coin's personal doctor. One pretended to be a nurse. And now, it seems I have another fake nurse to unmask.

With a fake smile, I walk up to her, noting that she's lingering by Peeta's door, trying to peek inside. "Hi!" I say brightly, startling her so much she nearly topples over. "I haven't seen you around here."

I'll give her points for recovering as she blushes brightly and begins to stutter, "I'm—I'm sorry, Mrs. Mellark!" Oh, she's shooting for brownie points with the surname. "You scared me!"

"No, it's me who should apologize," I reply with a thin smile. "I mean, I'm sure you were hanging around Peeta's door for no reason at all. In fact, I'm sure you were just about to knock to collect the laundry, am I right?"

I watch as a tiny bead of sweat forms on her forehead as she answers, "Yes. Yes, I was. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be out of your hair in just a minute." She quickly reaches for the doorknob, but I grab her wrist before she's even touching the metal. Pregnancy has not dulled my reflexes.

"I'd rather you simply be out of my sight."

I can see from the look on her face that she's debating whether or not her mission is salvageable. My eyes narrow as I give her my most vicious glare, one that promises a very painful end, and she quickly makes a decision. With a curt nod, she says, "Excuse me," and resumes pushing her laundry cart down the hall.

After I surreptitiously follow her out of the hospital, making sure she doesn't try to double back, I return to Peeta's room. I hesitate for a moment before entering, knowing that he'll still be in great pain due to the procedure. Dr. Riley said it could easily last the rest of today into the next. Maybe it'd be best not to disturb him . . .

"Are you going to come in or not?"

With wide eyes, I open the door and find Peeta staring at me. "How did you know?"

Peeta shrugs. "I always know when you're close. That hasn't changed."

My heart flutters at little at his admission. "Apparently. I remember when it annoyed me. It still does sometimes. You make it too hard to sneak up on you."

Peeta's lips turn up in a small smile. "I don't think it would be wise to surprise me at the moment. I might try to kill you."

I try not to frown. It irks me that Peeta talks so cavalierly about his condition, but I don't let this show on my face. Instead, I smirk back at him. "You could try," I tease. "But don't let this stomach fool you. I'm still faster than you."

"I doubt it."

"Are you trying to say that I'm fat?"

"I'm not _trying_ to say anything."

"It was implied. You think I'm fat."

"I think you're beautiful."

I pause, momentarily stunned. Peeta seems to sense my shock because he smiles, though it's not completely genuine. "What? I may be a little nuts but I'm not that far gone."

"It's not that," I shake my head slightly, still a little unsteady. "It's just that, this time last week, I don't think you would have said that."

"Probably not," Peeta agrees. "But I'm a quick healer."

I refrain from responding to his statement for the moment. Instead, I take my seat by his bedside and focus on Maya, who immediately trotted to my side the moment I walked through the door. I debate my response as I scratch her behind the ears. "Maybe," I finally reply quietly, avoiding eye contact. "Or maybe you just want to believe that."

"Katniss." At the sound of my name, I can't help but meet his eyes. I nearly flinch at the betrayal that he's trying to hide. "Don't tell me you're on _her_ side."

"Dr. Riley knows what she's doing, Peeta," I argue quietly, but firmly.

"What does she know?" Peeta retorts sharply. "She doesn't know a damn thing about what's going on in my head."

"And what _is_ going on in your head?" I challenge. "What are you so afraid of, Peeta? That you'll be treated differently? That people will see you differently? Or are you just too scared to show or admit to yourself how much the Capitol broke you?"

The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I can't even believe that they escaped my lips. For a moment, Peeta and I just stare at each other. He seems just as surprised by my words as I am. Until now, I've been very careful during our conversations. I hardly ever pushed, and he hardly ever mentioned his torture except for a few scathing remarks whenever he truly wanted to get his point across. It was the huge elephant in the room. It's not as though I am in denial about what he went through. I simply avoided the topic because I didn't want to provoke a flashback, not when he'd gone days without having one.

But I'll be the first to admit that I also avoided the topic for fear of what he might actually reveal.

After another few seconds, our staring contest ends. Peeta looks away, and I notice his hands clench into fists. "Is that what you think?" he asks angrily. "That I'm broken? That I'm weak?"

"No," I answer quietly. "But I'm not going to lie to myself and think that you're as strong as you think you are."

Peeta remains silent, and I sense that he wants the conversation to end, but I decide to push him. "You're not okay, Peeta." His shoulders tense. "No matter how you try to convince yourself otherwise, you can't shove this from your mind and continue on with your life. You have to face it. You have to accept it. You're not broken, Peeta, but you're not all that you once were either."

"So, what?" Peeta retorts viciously. "What if I'm not the same guy you married? Can you live with that? Can you live with the ghost of the man you once loved?"

"You're not the man I married, that's true," I admit calmly. "And you're certainly not all that you can be, and you're right, you may never reach that point again." Peeta stares into my eyes heatedly, but behind the anger I see the vulnerability, his need to know my answer, and his terror of what it might be. So I give him his answer with all the conviction I can muster, "But damn it Peeta, I love you. I don't care if you never become the man I remember. I fact, I don't want you to become that person. I want you to find yourself again, and whoever you decide that to be, I will love just as much."

Despite my answer, Peeta still seems unsure. "Really? Are you willing to accept the fact that you might have to tell our kid one day why their Dad is the way he is? The reason he can't love them like he should?"

"No, I'm not willing to accept that," I tell him honestly. "Because I have no doubt that you will love this child more than you love anyone. Even me."

"You don't know that. I'm not that person anymore."

"Not entirely, no. But you're heart is still made of gold, and it's your heart that defines who you are." I make sure to hold his gaze. "You have a good heart, Peeta. That will never change."

"I'll probably test that theory."

I smile, remembering my dream. "It's not a theory," I tell him softly. "It's a fact."

* * *

**So! Lots of stuff happened this chapter! There's drama brewing with Gale and Katniss. I'm actually going to do something with his character. Needs a little character arc if you ask me. So, here's the starting point for that.**

**And Peeta! We got a dream Peeta and a real Peeta, both of which said sweet things. Progress, people. Progress.**

**Summary for the chapter is as follows: Peeta proves to be the creator of INCEPTION; Katniss and Gale argue over coloring books; Prim actually acts her age for once; Mrs. Everdeen is somewhere smoking weed; Coin is trying to call up James Bond to eliminate the Mockingjays, but M refuses to answer; Dr. Riley is still awesome; and Haymitch is plotting an Ocean's 11 worthy plan to steal Coin's alcohol . . . **

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Peeta! **

**"What are you going to do, Hawthorne? Hit me?"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	17. Demons

**A/N: Hey, guys! This is going to seem really rushed, but I need to get to class! *checks clock* Yep, I've got two minutes and counting.**

**Yes, I know. I'm slacking.**

**So, long babble short, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE REVIEWS! GLORIOUS REVIEWS! **

**By the way, song title really refers to Peeta this chapter. The song is "Demons" by Imagine Dragons. Imagine Dragons are awesome. Listen and be amazed.**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Me: Guys, I really don't have time for this today.**

******************************************Rye: That hurts my feelings.**

******************************************Peeta: I'm insulted.**

******************************************Katniss: Me too.**

******************************************Haymitch: I really don't care.**

******************************************Me: Thanks, guys. I feel the love. **

* * *

Chapter 17: Demons

_When you feel my heat, look into my eyes_

_It's where my demons hide, It's where my demons hide  
_

_Don't get too close, it's dark inside_

_It's where my demons hide, It's where my demons hide  
_

_Your eyes, they shine so bright_

_I want to save their light_

_I can't escape this now_

_Unless you show me how_

* * *

"Alright Peeta, I want you to make this motion with your arms for as long as you can, okay?" Dr. Riley instructs as she makes small circles with her arms. "If it gets too much, stop. Pushing yourself too soon will only delay your recovery."

Peeta doesn't seem to hear her. If anything, her steadying words seem to have the opposite effect, and his motions become faster. Dr. Riley purses her lips in annoyance, but doesn't do anything to stop him. Instead, she begins to watch the clock on the wall, so as to note the time Peeta was able to do the exercise.

It's been three weeks since mine and Peeta's argument, and in those three weeks, I've gotten even fatter, Peeta has lost his casts, and neither of us has mentioned our disagreement on his character. I still can't understand why he thinks so little of himself now. Frankly, it's what perturbs me the most. Peeta was always confident in his abilities, and now he seems constantly at a loss, though he doesn't dare show it. I see it, though. It's like how he's currently pushing himself in his very first physical therapy session. It's as though he's trying to prove something, not only to me and everyone else, but also himself.

As Dr. Riley leads Peeta through more exercises, I look on quietly, though my mind is hardly present. I'm far too occupied by my thoughts. The past three weeks have not been a cakewalk. After the procedure that took care of his ribs, Peeta began to fight his doctors even more. Not physically, though sometimes I was sure he was about to snap the neck of at least one of his attending physicians. Once he could move with little to no pain, he began to protest vehemently about being kept in the hospital. Two of these loud arguments resulted in a flashback, which were extremely counterproductive to his efforts of freeing himself from the doctor's medicinal tyranny.

Despite the flashbacks, Peeta's new, tweaked personality continues to show itself. As I watch Peeta lift some minor weights, I contemplate his new character. The cheerfulness and optimism that initially drew me to him are gone, replaced with a calm contentment and realism. All of Peeta's more poetic notions have been shattered, and it's impossible for him to regain all of his once overflowing amiability. When it comes to others, Peeta is now much more cautious and not nearly as accepting. That's not to say that his heart is no longer kind and gracious, because it is, but now he simply refuses to trust people implicitly. Of course, I can't blame him for that.

Peeta is, at times, incredibly blunt, having abandoned some of his more flowery words. It's not as though he's lost his ability with words. No, if anything it's been strengthened; strengthened with his ability to now hide veiled threats . . . and more importantly the promise of carrying them out. Peeta is no longer hampered by some of his previous morals. No, he lost that innocence in the Capitol's cell.

Simply put, this new Peeta is truly dangerous. Where there was once a kind twinkle in his eye, there is now a glint of something ominous, something that should not be provoked. You would think that this dangerous light would worry me. It would make sense. However, I find that it makes me feel safer.

I feel safer because behind that dangerous glint in his eye, I see a warning. A warning to everyone that he will protect those he loves, consequences be damned. Knowing of the days that will come, the impending threat of not only Snow, but the shadowy intent of Coin as well . . . I feel safer with this Peeta by my side. Because where I may hesitate, I know that he will not.

The lighter side of Peeta's new personality is shy. He doesn't regularly let his guard down, and so it's hard to draw out a laugh or a smile. I've yet to see his playful side reemerge, but I know it's there. I simply need to be patient. His once frequent teasing remarks are so rare they're nearly extinct, but I have faith that they will return.

This is not the Peeta that I fell in love with, but I love him all the same, more than he could possibly know. No, he is no longer the cheerful, affable, teasing, warm man that I remember. But he is still every bit as brave, loyal, compassionate, and kind. Eventually, I know that his lighter side will reveal itself, though I realize that now he will only allow himself to be that vulnerable with a select few.

It doesn't matter that he is no longer the same person. Like I'd told him before, all that mattered was that he was with me, and I will always love him.

Smiling internally at my musings, I absently glance at the clock. At the sight of the time, I feel my stomach drop. Five more minutes. Five more minutes until Peeta is finished with his session. Five more minutes until Peeta will be able to go home.

With me.

Dr. Riley finally signed off on Peeta's mental health, but it was not without reservation. After officially releasing him from her care, she had taken me aside. "Katniss, I know that Peeta has made some wonderful progress," she began. "And I know that he's ready to get out of here, and you are too, but—"

"But he's nowhere near fully recovered," I interrupted knowingly and Dr. Riley noded.

"In the past six weeks, he's made fantastic progress physically, but I think we all expected that. And mentally, he has made some progress, but he's far from recovered. If I wanted to keep him until he was healed mentally, he'd be stuck in this room for months, maybe years. I can't do that to him. Now, I wouldn't release him unless I was sure that he could handle the stress, but I'm just telling you to be careful."

I knew what she was referring to. Flashbacks. Peeta still had them, though it's been two weeks since his last one. However, Dr. Riley is also wary of Peeta's release because he has yet to have a breakdown. She seems to think that this is crucial to his recovery. Because, according to her, Peeta can never build himself back up if he doesn't reach his lowest low.

Part of me believes her. Another part wishes that Peeta could just continue to get better. I don't know if I can stand seeing him break, not after all the progress he's made.

I'm torn from my thoughts when I hear Dr. Riley say, "Alright, Peeta that's enough for the day."

Despite the fact that he's covered in sweat, Peeta argues, "I can keep going."

"And I'm a goldfish," Dr. Riley deadpans. "You did great today. Let's not push it."

Biting back a surly retort, Peeta nods curtly and picks up a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. Meanwhile, Dr. Riley turns to me and says quietly, "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"If he has a flashback, just stay calm and talk him through it. But if it gets too much—"

"I love it when people talk about me like I'm not present," Peeta interrupts as he approaches us. "Gives me a fuzzy feeling."

"Peeta—"

"No, I got it, Doc," Peeta says seriously before he turns to me. "Katniss has a wicked right cross. I trust her."

"So if worse comes to worse, your plan is for Katniss to knock you out?" Dr. Riley says dubiously.

"Pretty much."

"Why don't I feel reassured?"

"We'll be fine," I tell her confidently, before adding, "And don't underestimate my punching abilities."

Dr. Riley sighs, "In all seriousness, be careful. Avoid stress. Play nice."

Peeta leans down and whispers to me loudly, "Why do I think she's just talking to me?"

Both Dr. Riley and I ignore him.

"We will," I assure her.

She takes a few seconds to give us both a stern glare, before she sighs and looks at Peeta. "Next appointment is this Thursday. Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Dr. Riley nods, before turning to me. "And you and I have a date tomorrow. Don't stand me up. My poor heart couldn't take the rejection."

I laugh. "Eleven on the dot," I reply with a smile. "I'll be there."

"Fantastic. I should go. Believe it or not, I actually have other patients to attend to."

"Better not keep them waiting."

"See you kids, later."

Peeta and I are quiet as Dr. Riley exits the room. After a moment, Peeta says, "If she hadn't kept me prisoner in that damn hospital, I might actually like her."

I raise my eyebrows slightly. "Since when do you hold grudges?"

"Since I was tortured by a guy with an ax to grind," he retorts without skipping a beat. It's the ease with which he speaks of his torture, the veiled rage and resentment in his words, and even more so the knowledge that I can't do anything to help, that causes my eyes to fill with tears. At my reaction, Peeta blanches. "Sorry.

"It's alright," I say with a self-deprecating smile. "These days, I cry about anything. I cried over a chair once."

Even now, weeks later, the memory still embarrasses me.

Peeta's lips quirk into an amused smile as we begin to walk through the hall toward the elevator. "A chair?" he repeats dubiously.

"No one would sit in it," I try to explain my thought process. "It wasn't fulfilling its life purpose."

"So you felt pity for a chair."

"Yes."

"And everyone thinks I'm the crazy one."

"Shut it, Mellark."

I push the button for the elevator and Peeta and I wait in silence. Although I'm trying to quell my anxiety, it's quickly becoming impossible. Peeta will be with me all day, every day, from now on. I shouldn't be scared. I shouldn't be nervous. I mean, it's Peeta.

And yet, it's not.

How will our new, muddled dynamic effect our lives? I'll no longer have my room—_our_ room—to retreat to when Peeta's new quirks overwhelm me. The space is no longer entirely my own. For the first time in two months, I will not be sleeping alone . . . and the thought is equally terrifying and thrilling.

The elevator doors open and I'm relieved to see that its depths are empty. Although Peeta has been allowed out of the hospital for the last three weeks, it was under the condition of a soldier escort in case he, well, attacked someone. However, the need for a guard actually didn't cause any problems, because Rye stepped into the role flawlessly. Fulfilling his role of big brother, Rye showed Peeta around District 13, though he was careful to avoid the more crowded places when he could. Peeta didn't like big crowds. There were too many people for him to analyze as a threat, too many unknown variables.

Peeta also didn't like confined spaces, and he certainly didn't like sharing said spaces with people he didn't know—hence my relief at the sight of the empty elevator.

Together, we step into the elevator. Wordlessly, I punch the button for our floor and step back to lean against the elevator walls. I close my eyes and shift my weight a little, but it doesn't relieve the pain in my ankles. Peeta's senses, sharper than ever, notices and questions me. "What?"

I sigh. "Your child keeps getting bigger. My ankles swell. My feet hurt. My back hurts." Suddenly, I feel a sharp kick, and wince slightly. "And he kicks like he's possessed."

I can't quite read the look on Peeta's face at my admission. It's a mixture of sadness, guilt, interest, and anxiety. But, more than anything, he looks worried. In an attempt to soothe him, I give him a genuine smile. "It's fine. Nothing I can't handle. It reassures me, if anything. It means that things are going just as they're supposed to."

My answer doesn't seem to mollify Peeta completely, but whatever emotion that remains he forces out of his mind like he so often does nowadays. I want to call him out on it. I want to tell him that he can't simply shove his captivity, his torture, to the back of his mind and try to move on with his life like it didn't happen. He has to face it and accept how much it changed him.

But I know when to push him . . . and now isn't the time.

Suddenly, the elevator pauses to allow another passenger to step on. Initially, I'm not too worried as the doors begin to open . . . but the moment the passenger is revealed to be Gale, my heartbeat immediately quickens and I feel my entire body tense as I remember our last encounter.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta's eyes narrow at my reaction and he instantly appraises Gale, his face hard, but relatively expressionless. However, his eyes tell a different story. A threat swirls within his blue irises, a dangerous glint. I've spent enough time with Peeta to know what this look means. In his mind, he's now labeled Gale as a possible threat, for no other reason than my slight discomfort at his presence.

I wonder if Gale realizes he's already treading on thin ice.

In a silent effort to reassure him, I take Peeta's hand and lace my fingers with his. He tenses slightly at the unexpected contact, but relaxes within in the next second. If Gale is shocked by Peeta's presence he doesn't show it, stepping into the elevator calmly and wordlessly pressing the button for his floor.

No one speaks as the elevator doors close and the car begins to descend. Peeta is still tense and alert, while Gale is the perfect picture of calm—such an odd twist of roles. However, just because Gale seems calm doesn't mean that I can't see through his faux air of indifference. It's obvious by the brief flicker of his eyes in my direction and the immediate thinning of his lips that he has not forgotten our argument three weeks ago. It's not as though his reaction shocks me. We haven't spoken since.

I should have known Gale would choose this time to break our silence.

"Katniss."

"Gale."

"Peeta."

I stare at Peeta in confusion, and he just shrugs. "I didn't want to be left out of the conversation."

I roll my eyes. Way to break the tension, Peeta.

"So you're out of the hospital?" Gale asks conversationally. His tone is casual enough, but I sense that something's off. Apparently, Peeta does too, because he immediately becomes even more guarded.

"Yeah," he replies vaguely. "Can't say I'll miss the place."

"Makes sense," Gale nods. "Must have felt like just another cell."

My jaw clenches at Gale's remark, and my grip on Peeta's hand tightens. I know what Gale is doing. He's seeing how well Peeta has recovered. He's testing him. And I know exactly who he will feed his observations to—Coin. She wants to use Peeta, she's made no secret of it. Sending in spies. Trying to coerce information from Haymitch and Dr. Riley. She wants another pawn, and Peeta has been sacrificed enough already. I'll be damned if I let her use him to further her own agenda.

"Compared to the last one it was much more comfortable, I'll give them that," Peeta retorts calmly, though his tone doesn't do anything to reassure me. "Even hospital beds are better than a cold, stone floor soaked with your own blood."

I flinch slightly at the visual that appears in my head, and Gale tries not to show his shock at Peeta's newly developed blunt demeanor. Despite his brief hesitation, Gale quickly collects himself and replies, "I bet. So you're going to be playing house with Katniss, now? Are you cleared for that?"

The implication of Gale's statement causes my eyes to narrow. Does he honestly think that Peeta would hurt me?

Peeta smiles humorlessly. "Yeah. Great, isn't it? I'm considered halfway sane and I still get to sleep with Katniss. That must really sting."

Gale's face hardens at Peeta's statement and suddenly the air in the elevator becomes so thick I would need a hacksaw to cut through it. "I'd be careful if I were you," Gale warns coldly.

Peeta seems to take Gale's veiled threat with a token of glee. "What are you going to do, Hawthorne?" he chides with amusement. "Hit me?"

"I'm thinking about it."

Peeta's eyes darken slightly, and the danger that radiates off him makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "You could always try, but it won't end well for you."

Gale steps forward threateningly and before Peeta can lunge at him, I step in between the two of them, placing a hand on each of their chests to restrain them. "Stop it!" I order them both. I know that it's taking all of Peeta's restraint not to yank me out of the way, and Gale's muscles are taut beneath my fingertips. I need to diffuse this quick before they hurt each other. "You two have all the time in the world to have a pissing contest, but now is not the time!" I turn to glare at who I thought was my best friend. I never would have thought I might one day question the title. "Gale, back off." I turn to Peeta, and plead in a softer voice, "Calm down. Please."

For the longest time, neither Gale nor Peeta move. They simply glare at each other, neither of them doing anything to hide their extreme dislike of the other. I always knew that they put up with each other for my sake, but I never thought that they hated each other this much. But, then again, both of them have changed since they last met.

Finally, Gale takes a step back, and I let my hand fall to my side. Peeta takes my hand from his chest, lacing his fingers with mine. Gently, he pulls me back to his side. No one speaks until the elevator finally dings, signaling Gale's departure. Stiffly, he leaves the elevator, but before the doors close he looks at me and then Peeta.

"President Coin will be glad to hear of your continuing recovery."

Peeta merely raises his eyebrows slightly, in a gesture that's both condescending and nonplussed.

The doors close and Gale disappears, though some of the tension remains. I glance up at him and ask quietly, "Are you okay?"

"I'm not about to kill him, if that's what you're asking," he says before he face brightens. "But now that I mention it, I'm quickly warming up to the idea."

"Peeta," I chastise.

"What? I forgot how much I hated him."

Before I can reply, the elevator doors open once again, revealing the grey hallway that leads to our compartment. Wordlessly, we step off the elevator and Peeta follows me to our new compartment, 2202. "Haymitch is two doors down," I tell him as I open the door. "Just so you know."

Peeta doesn't comment. Instead, he steps inside the meager room and immediately surveys his new surroundings. I hang back by the door, silently watching him as he analyzes the entire room. "No windows," he finally says.

"Well, we are underground."

"I hate it."

"Join the club."

I lean against the door, silently watching him stand in the middle of the room, his eyes still taking in the four walls surrounding him. The quiet stretches on for so long, that I finally can't stand it anymore and ask a question that's been building itself in my mind since we stepped off the elevator.

"Do you really hate Gale?"

Peeta seems to debate his answer for a moment before saying, "I don't know if I hate him, but I do know that he irritates the hell out of me."

"Why?"

"Because he's still deluding himself into thinking that you'll actually choose him," he says with a shrug, before adding, "And he wants to get into your pants."

"Is that really what it all boils down to?" I ask incredulously. "Sex?"

"Men are very simple creatures . . . and always seem to want what they can't have. Then again, maybe that's just part of being human. Hell, if I know." Peeta's eyes suddenly grow distant as he says, almost to himself, "I used to think I knew people pretty well. Why they did what they did. I was wrong. Sometimes, there's no reason."

Suddenly, he shakes his head and snaps out of whatever memory momentarily consumed him. He gives me a poor excuse for a smile. "I'm great company, aren't I?"

"Rye has nicknamed you Mr. Doom and Gloom," I reply with a quirk of my lips. "But personally, my favorite is still Mr. Blonde, Buff, and Beautiful."

I meant for my words to lighten the mood, but they seem to have the opposite effect, because Peeta laughs bitterly and says, "Yeah, because I'm in such great shape now."

"I never thought you were one for self-pity," I retort with a little spite in my voice. Time to give him a push.

My words certainly do the trick. Peeta's eyes narrow and his expression becomes stony. "I don't feel sorry for myself."

"I think you do."

"What do you know about what I think?" Peeta challenges angrily. "Do you really want to get into my head? Because I guarantee you it's not a pretty place to be."

"Well, if you don't feel sorry for yourself, what do you feel?" I reply quickly, daring him to answer me.

As I expected, Peeta rises to the challenge. "What do I feel? I'm angry. I'm _furious_. I want to hunt down every single one of those bastards and watch them die. Slowly. I want them know that they're human. I want them to feel every pain I've felt. I want them to know that they didn't break me." Peeta advances on me, placing a hand on either side of my head, trapping me against the door with his body. "And how does that make you feel? Knowing that you're married to someone who would wish that kind of pain on someone else? Are you sure that's the kind of person you want as a father to your child?"

I'm very proud of myself when my voice doesn't waver. "Yes," I answer firmly, looking right into his eyes. Our faces are mere inches apart, and I'm suddenly reminded of the fact that the only romantic touch we've shared since his return was our one kiss that very first day. Peeta must see something in my eyes, because his eyes darken and immediately there's the most delicious tension between us that I've sorely missed.

Peeta's eyes briefly flicker down to my lips, and I'm nearly trembling with the need for his mouth to be firmly pressed to mine. But then I see something in his eyes dim, and with a trembling breath, he steps away from me, lowering his hands back to his sides. I let out a shaky breath, which causes my entire body to shudder. Peeta looks at me with a mixture of frustration, guilt, and regret. "I'm sorry," he says eventually. "It just . . ." He shakes his head, sad and confused. "It just didn't feel right."

I try to swallow my hurt, but I must not be completely successful because the guilt in Peeta's eyes intensifies and he looks away from me. "It's okay," I tell him softly.

"No it's not," Peeta argues in a whisper, looking pained. "Being with you used to be as easy as breathing."

_Used to be. _

"We just need time."

Peeta runs a hand through his hair before sitting on the bed and putting his head in his hands. Silently, I take a seat beside him and place a gentle hand on his back. Despite my best efforts, the unexpected touch still startles him slightly, and I hear him utter a muffled curse at his reaction.

"I'm trying to be who you want me to be," he finally says in a pained whisper. "I'm trying so damn hard, but it's not enough. It'll never be enough."

"I don't want you to be who _I_ want you to be." With a cautious hand, I gently take his wrist and pull his hand away from his face. Peeta still refuses so look at me, and so I trail my fingers along his jaw before tilting his face toward mine. "Peeta, I want you to be who you are. Nothing more, nothing less."

"But who am I?" Peeta questions vulnerably. "Who am I?"

"That's for you to decide."

* * *

**And there we go! Lots and lots happened this chapter. I know most of you probably wanted a punch thrown or two between Peeta and Gale, but you'll just have to use your imagination for that one. I didn't have a real fight because even in his more violent state, I don't think Peeta would have started a fight unless he absolutely had too since the elevator is such a confined space and Katniss could easily get caught in the middle and injured. Besides, if Peeta had started a fight, Gale would be dead . . . so . . . yeah**

**Summary time!**

**I don't have time for this, regrettably. Entertain me with your own version of the summary! :)**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Coin!**

**"Mr. Mellark, I'm glad to see that you're doing well."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	18. Back in Black

**A/N: And here we are yet again! This time around I'm not in a rush, and so I can babble nonsense all I want! Woo!**

**First bit of babble will consist of praising your awesomeness. Hello! We've almost got 1000 reviews. Already. In case you guys don't realize this, this means that you are awesome. So if you didn't know that epic fact about yourself, well, now you do.**

**That being said, thank you thank you for all of your reviews. I read and cherish every single one. You guys make my day. Make. My. Day.**

**Second bit of babble congratulates a certain nameless person who came up with the summary for the last chapter! I do hate that I didn't have time to come up with one! But, never fear, a certain guest (I'd love to have your name so I could thank you) came up with one for me! I would like to post it with his or her permission. So, please tell me if I can. It was epic.**

**Third bit of babble will talk about this chapter. It's one of my favs, and I'm pretty sure you guys will see why. Coin will get owned. And it shall be epic. :)**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Me: Woo! This chapter is fun!**

******************************************Coin: Finally. I'm in the story again.**

******************************************Me: (glares) What are you doing in my disclaimer? Away with you! Shoo!**

******************************************Peeta: Seriously. I'll kill you.**

******************************************Katniss: He's not kidding.**

******************************************Haymitch: Who knows? We might be plotting your death.**

******************************************Rye: At this very moment.**

******************************************Coin: (scoffs) Yeah, right.**

******************************************Me: (chuckles evilly)**

* * *

Chapter 18: Back in Black

_So look at me now, I'm just making my play_

_Don't try to push your luck, just get out of my way  
_

_'Cause I'm back, yes I'm back  
_

* * *

I know it's not yet dawn when I open my eyes. Slowly, I blink against the darkness of the room. Reflexively, I stretch my arm in order to turn on the lamp resting on the bedside table, but moments before I click the button, I suddenly become very aware that I'm not alone.

My body stiffens in surprise as I realize that there's a warm body not only lying next to me, but trapping me against him. A large, familiar hand rests on my swollen stomach, and with a soft gasp I remember that I no longer have to sleep alone.

Slowly, I lower my arm and bury it beneath the warm covers. I relax my body, knowing that the slightest change in environment will wake Peeta. He was a light sleeper before, but after his experience in the Capitol he will wake at the slightest sound. Even Maya's soft paws gliding over the floor will wake him. Speaking of my wolfy friend, I let lift my head just slightly and look down toward the foot of the bed. Just as I expected, Maya rests comfortably at our feet, her head on her paws.

For a moment, I can almost trick myself into thinking that I'm lying with Peeta in our bed at home. The pale light of the moon would be shining on my face, giving the room a ghostly glow that I always found comforting. Peeta would be like he is now, securing me snugly to his body, and in a teasing gesture I would wiggle in just the right way to give him a surprise wakeup call that would lead to playful lovemaking.

Regrettably, I don't see this vision playing out anytime soon.

I sigh quietly and stare into the blackness of the room, though I'm still extremely aware of Peeta next to me. After his brief show of vulnerability, I had hopefully thought that maybe he would open up to me. In the next five minutes, Peeta proved me wrong. Suddenly, he'd shot to his feet, muttered something about a shower, and disappeared into the bathroom for nearly half an hour.

That had left me sitting on a too big bed, trying to fight off a suffocating feeling of loneliness. I know that I have no right to wish Peeta would be the man I remember. I know that I have no right to ask so much of him. But damn it, it would certainly make things easier. I love him. I really do, but he makes it so hard. He will want me in one second and practically shun me in the next. Our conversations always seem slightly forced. We simply don't _click_ anymore.

And yet, despite all of that, I know that he loves me more than anything. That's what makes everything worse. We love each other so much . . . and we still can't connect like we used to.

I remind myself that we just need time, that Peeta needs time to sort things out in his head. He needs time to come to grips with what happened. He needs time to heal. He simply needs _time_.

Of course, as our luck would have it, time is something that we can't afford. I have no doubt that Gale reported his observations about Peeta to Coin, and a sinking feeling in my stomach tells me that Peeta and I will have to face Command very soon. Frankly, I'm still amazed that Haymitch and I have managed to hold them off for this long.

Anxiety slithers through my veins, leaving a cold trail in their wake. Instinctively, I shiver, and in response Peeta's arm tightens around me. I lay my hand over his where it rests on my stomach, biting my lip as I worry about what Coin may have in store. She'll want a propo at the very least, an actual appearance by Peeta in the districts at the worst. I'm not allowed to fly at this state in my pregnancy, so I'm permanently grounded in 13, much to Coin's frustration. If she wants a Mockingjay, all she has left is Peeta.

I close my eyes at the thought of Peeta in a warzone. There's no telling how it would affect his psyche, but I know for a fact his flashbacks would return in full force. Peeta can't afford to falter this far in his recovery. Not now.

Suddenly, Peeta shifts behind me and I tense. For a second, I think he's about to wake up, but after a full minute of lying completely still, Peeta doesn't show any sign of consciousness. I feel guilty due to the relief that causes my tense muscles to uncoil. It's not like I'm scared of Peeta. It's just . . . I can't _stand_ the awkwardness between us.

Before we got into bed, the tension in the air was ridiculous. I actually went into the bathroom to change into my nightclothes. It's not like there's anything Peeta hasn't seen before, but damn it I was still nervous. Peeta was exactly the same way. Finally, after standing around the room awkwardly, I gave in and slid under the covers, turning onto my side away from him. It took five minutes before I felt the bed dip as Peeta joined me.

At first, we stayed on our respective sides of the bed. But then, after about ten minutes, Peeta cautiously wrapped an arm around me. I took his hand in mine, reassuring him that I was okay, and together we both fell asleep, like we'd done hundreds of times before. Except, for the entire time as I drifted into unconsciousness, all I could think about was how I'd never felt closer to him and yet so far away.

"I can hear you thinking," Peeta mutters into my neck, surprising me so much that if I didn't have my stomach weighing me down, I probably would have fallen off the bed. "Easy," he chuckles at my reaction. "It's just me."

Just him.

"Don't scare me like that," I chastise, though I give his hand a squeeze to make sure he knows that I'm only joking. "You'll send me into premature labor."

"Could that really happen?" Peeta asks, sounding slightly terrified at the thought.

I laugh. "Of course," I tell him with a smile in my voice. "After all, in a couple months, it could happen anytime."

"So soon?"

"Well, once I get into my ninth month, I'll have an appointment every week." I shrug slightly. "So yeah . . . it'll happen pretty soon."

"Wow."

"Uh huh."

We're both quiet before Peeta asks hesitantly. "Scared?"

I snort. "Terrified," I say honestly, though I'm smiling. "What about you?"

Peeta doesn't immediately answer, and when he does, it doesn't even pertain to the question. "You should go back to sleep."

And just like that, the brief period of closeness ends.

The next time I wake, the bed is empty and Maya is in Peeta's place. My heartbeat immediately quickens, and I sit up as fast as I can. Where is he?

As my panic recedes, I hear the water going in the shower and relax. Despite the fact that running water still makes him uneasy, Peeta's need for cleanliness overpowers his fear—I can understand why. I doubt his cell in the Capitol was the epitome of clean.

While Peeta is in the shower, I dress quickly, pulling on my version of District 13's uniform—stretchy, soft black pants (thank you, Cinna) and one of Peeta's t-shirts. I discovered Cinna's final gift to me last week when Venia had eaten breakfast with me. She had found some extra things that Cinna had slipped into 13, right under Coin's nose. These clothes included incredibly comfortable materials that were perfect for my expanding body. And, in the lining of a jacket, Venia had found some baby clothes.

Cinna was still finding ways to help me.

"You know, 13 isn't going to like you using so much water," I say without turning around when I hear the bathroom door open.

"Like I care."

I glance over my shoulder and try not to frown when I see that Peeta is already dressed. The days when he always seemed to be in some state of undress are a distant memory. Of course, I know why Peeta doesn't want me to see him in that state.

Scars.

He hates them so much. They are stark reminders of what happened, which is extremely counterproductive to Peeta's current habit of simply trying to forget. The scars make it impossible. I want to tell him that I don't see them as disfiguring or nasty, but I'm too afraid to broach the sensitive subject. I can't have him retreat even further into himself than he already has.

"You know, I've never brought it up until now," Peeta begins as he sits beside me on the bed. "But you've been stealing my shirts again."

"Borrow," I correct him with a smile, repeating the same excuse I always use. "Borrow without permission."

"That's called stealing."

"Borrowing." I give him the most mischievous look I can muster and add, "Besides, you'll never stop me."

Peeta raises his eyebrows. "And how do you know?"

"Because," I say with a smile. "You like it when I wear your clothes."

"You look ridiculous."

"You think it's cute." My lips quirk, forming the smallest of smirks. "I know you too well, Peeta."

"Do you?" Peeta retorts, killing the playful atmosphere in one fell swoop. "Do you really?"

"Yes," I answer softly. "I do."

Before Peeta can try to argue, someone knocks on the door. Immediately, Peeta tenses and his eyes narrow in suspicion. "Are you two decent?" Haymitch asks through the door.

I roll my eyes. "Yes."

"Thank god," Haymitch says as he opens the door and steps into the room. "I'll never be able to burn that image from my mind," he adds with a shudder.

Despite the fact that the incident he's referring to happened nearly a year ago, I still find myself blushing at the reminder. However, it's Peeta's reaction to Haymitch's words that is the most intriguing. He looks sad, and it makes me wonder if he's thinking about last night. How nothing happened.

"What are you doing here?" Peeta asks curiously, though his eyes remain guarded.

"We've been summoned," Haymitch answers dryly. "Command wants to have a chat."

I sigh heavily. "Figured they would," I reply as I glance at Peeta. "Both of us?"

"Of course."

"Damn."

Peeta's eyes narrow. "What?" he asks defensively. "Why don't you want me to go?"

"Because they're just going to try to use you," I tell him honestly. "And that's not going to happen."

"I can take care of myself," Peeta retorts coldly. "Trust me. Coin isn't going to throw anything at me that I haven't already heard before."

I debate arguing with him, but decide that riling him up even more isn't worth it. He needs to be as calm as possible during the meeting with Command. An all too familiar selfish anger flickers to life within me. I miss the days when I didn't have to worry about Peeta. I miss the days when I could count on him to keep a level head. I miss the days when he was who he used to be.

"Okay," I concede. "Then let's go."

The trek to Command is made in complete silence. Haymitch and I walk on either side of Peeta in a gesture that obviously annoys him by the look on his face. Neither Haymitch nor I let it stop us though. Both of us realize just how easily the coming stress could make Peeta snap. Surrounded by military men who think their station gives them the right to dictate other's lives might remind Peeta far too much of Peacekeepers. Then there are the Capitol citizens, like Plutarch and Fulvia or Cressida and her film crew, who might bring back memories, too. And of course, I couldn't forget the final person on my list: Alma Coin.

She is so much like President Snow . . . there's no telling how Peeta will react. How will he respond to her manipulation that she's sure to employ? How will he respond to her orders? I have no doubt that she will have demands and a fair share of anger. After all, we have been thwarting her attempts of control for a little more than a month.

And to someone who craves control . . . that is not an insult that she will let slide.

Rye joins us in the elevator, wearing a cheerful smile. "So," he nudges Peeta with his shoulder just slightly. I'm surprised when Peeta doesn't show any discomfort with the contact, so he must have seen it coming. Rye is not that hard to predict. "Ready to face Command?"

"Doesn't really matter. It's happening anyway."

"Just don't kill anyone, okay?" Rye jokes. "That's not a very good way to ease the tension."

"I can't imagine why," Peeta returns sarcastically. "And I'm not going to kill anyone. Why do you always assume I'm going to kill someone?"

"You've got murder in your eye, little brother," Rye replies, his smile belying his seriousness. "A little too much of a vengeful twinkle."

"If you're not careful, my first victim might be you."

"And then who would make you laugh? Certainly not Katniss. Everyone knows she has no sense of humor."

"Hey!"

"Well you three shut up?" Haymitch snaps irritated. "You're giving me a headache."

"Oh come on, Haymitch!" Rye cajoles as he slaps our mentor on the shoulder. "Lighten up! This meeting is only going to decide our fate for the rest of the time we're here," he says before turning to Peeta and adding, "So it's all on you. No pressure."

"Thanks."

We all fall silent when the elevator doors open. Not even Rye tries to break the automatic tension that settles over us. I try to calm the worries that are flying through my mind. How will Peeta react? What will Coin try to do? Will she demand appearances in the districts? Propos? Deployment to a warzone? I bite my lip. That can't happen. None of it can.

And how will she treat Peeta? Will she try to manipulate him into doing her bidding? Will she try to provoke him? Too many unknowns for my conscience.

"Katniss." Peeta's soft voice penetrates my swirling thoughts. I meet his eyes, and for the first time see a modicum of his old self. Gentle, reassuring, calming. "Trust me."

I nod and give him a shaky smile, and then watch as Peeta shoves his previous emotions to the back of his mind, a mask of indifference taking their place.

I try not to sigh in disappointment.

The moment we enter Command, everyone automatically falls silent. Every pair of eyes settle on me or Peeta. Haymitch and Rye might as well be invisible. I meet their gazes steadily, daring them to say anything. Cressida and her team are eyeing Peeta with interest, and when I catch her gaze, she offers me a smile. At least she's happy for me. Boggs is looking at Peeta in an appraising way, like he would a soldier. When I meet Gale's gaze, I try not to flinch. His eyes are hard as stone, his face an impassive mask, but I still see the hurt. When his eyes land on Peeta, a fiery anger shines in his eyes.

If Peeta notices, he doesn't react.

Plutarch and Fulvia are looking at Peeta in a way that's almost predatory, and I don't relish the comparison at all. I can practically see the ideas for propos and other propaganda running wild in their minds. They probably haven't given a thought to Peeta's trauma, aside from thinking of it as "unfortunate" or something similar. When they catch my eyes, Fulvia blatantly glares at me. Plutarch is able to control his expression better, but it's obvious he's still upset with me for the "you can't see Peeta" incident.

After sizing up the room, I let the majority of my attention rest on Peeta. So far, he's showing no outward sign of being bothered by the specific people in the room. More than anything, he just seems uncomfortable with the crowded atmosphere of the room, although nothing of his countenance conveys discomfort. His back and shoulders are tense, but his posture is impeccable and commanding, completely obscuring his unease. His face portrays an expression of calm confidence as he casually slips his hands into his pockets, leaning against the back wall of the room—directly in front of President Coin.

Immediately, they lock eyes and within the next second an anxious air settles over the room. Everyone feels the tension, all of us waiting for something to happen, but for the longest time the entire room remains in complete silence as Peeta and Coin stare each other down. I watch as Coin's calculative, cold grey eyes narrow ever so slightly as she observes Peeta, looking for anything she can exploit. Peeta returns her gaze evenly, obviously unaffected by her analysis.

Something tells me that this situation is not completely foreign to Peeta.

Finally, after nearly five full minutes of silence, Coin's lips quirk in a small, deceptive smile. Peeta merely raises his eyebrows in response. I can't tell if he's amused or being slightly condescending. Either way, Coin doesn't seem too thrilled, but nonetheless she forces a small smile and says, "Mr. Mellark. I'm glad to see that you're doing well. It's been difficult to get an update on your progress."

_Not that you haven't tried_, I think snidely. _Bitch_.

Peeta shrugs. "Not much to tell," he replies coolly. "Just a few broken bones. Some internal trauma. A few torn ligaments and tendons here and there. Nothing big." Peeta suddenly gives her a slight smile, "But it's great to know that you were genuinely concerned."

Coin's mouth twists in a barely visible grimace. It's obvious that she's realizing Peeta is going to be much more difficult to handle than she thought. I'm just able to control my grin. Peeta hasn't lost a step when it comes to confrontations.

"Of course," Coin says with a slight nod. "After all, you are the face of the rebellion. The rebel's spirits were lifted due to your rescue. We now have control over every District with the exception of 2. However, now that we have both our Mockingjays, I'm sure that our forces will overcome 2 soon."

Peeta's face suddenly twists in distaste, before adopting an apologetic look. "Yeah, about the whole 'Mockingjay' thing," he shakes his head. "That just doesn't sound too appealing."

Coin's eyes narrow dangerously. "Part of our agreement with your wife in return for asylum is showing public support for the rebellion," she says. "The people love you. I realize you have suffered a traumatic experience, but as a symbol of the new nation that we're trying to build, you cannot ignore your duty to our cause."

Peeta remains silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Finally, he pins Coin with a stare that is blatantly disrespectful. "So, let me get this straight," he says slowly. "You're saying—quite subtly, I might add—that if I don't do what you say, you would deem it within your power to kick me and Katniss out of 13, and thus, basically throw us to the wolves. Which, might I add, due to past experience with wolves—I really don't relish that analogy."

Coin opens her mouth to retort, but Peeta speaks before she can utter a word. "Now, let's think about the wisdom of this threat," he continues. "One, you obviously haven't thought this through very well. I mean, how would it look to the rebels—who you supposedly lead—if they learned that you basically left us for dead? Because, let's face facts, Snow and I didn't really part on good terms. There's a little resentment there. And then he has this whole vendetta against Katniss because she made him look like an idiot. So, if you kick us out, we're dead. And you know it. And the people know it." Peeta almost looks pityingly at Coin. "And you think this is the right thing to do? I mean, if you still want the people to actually like you."

Throughout Peeta's entire speech, Coin's face has slowly been turning a deeper and deeper shade of red, while the rest of the officials mouths have continued to drop in shock at Peeta's obvious disrespect. I can't decide whether I should feel nervous or incredibly proud.

"Now, I don't think you're an idiot," Peeta says with a shrug. "It's fairly obvious that you're quite intelligent. And as an intelligent person, I think you've realized by now that I'm not about to bend over backwards for you. I've been a pawn for long enough." His eyes narrow. "And frankly, you have no leverage. _You_ need _us_. Not the other way around."

Coin's eyes narrow dangerously. "I won't need you forever, Mr. Mellark," she threatens coldly before adding, "Are you sure you want to play this game?"

"I'm afraid you would lose."

There's a tense moment before Rye suddenly speaks. "Well, this has been lovely. Very insightful. I do believe this is the time when we make our dramatic exit. One of us might even slam the door."

Haymitch looks at the two guards on either side of the door with narrowed eyes. Then, he looks back at Coin. "Anything else you wish to discuss, President?"

"That will be all." Coin says icily. "For now."

One by one, the four of us file out the door, and I feel every set of eyes boring into the back of my skull. We're completely silent as we walk through the hallway, and the silence continues as we wait for the elevator. However, the moment we step into the car and the doors close, Rye breaks the silence with a round of applause.

"Dude," he looks at Peeta in admiration. "That was the coolest thing you have _ever_ done."

Peeta just sighs, looking drained, and doesn't respond.

Haymitch is frowning. "Kid, that was a ballsy move. Contrary to what Coin said, this isn't a game anymore."

"You think I don't know that?" Peeta asks as he runs a hand over his face. "None of this was ever a game."

"You just told her right to her face, in front of her entire inner circle, that you don't give a damn about a thing she says. You blatantly told her that she had no control whatsoever, and then you went and challenged her." Haymitch shakes his head. "I don't know whether to be impressed, proud, or pissed."

"One thing's for certain," I say, speaking for the first time. "We're going to have to watch our backs."

"Yeah, she's totally going to try to kill us," Rye agrees before adding dully, "Yay."

"We've still got a little over a month before we have to start worrying about that," Haymitch says, shooting a pointed look at me.

Right. Once I have the baby, once the war is won, I'm expendable.

"But what about Peeta?" I question worriedly. My eyes meet his. "Sorry, but it's not like you're the one having the baby. Technically, you're already expendable. She might decide you're more trouble than you're worth."

Peeta suddenly smiles, though it holds no humor. "Nah, she'll keep me around, at least for awhile."

"What makes you so sure?" Rye questions.

"Because, she's just like every other dictator," Peeta replies coolly. "They're all like cats. They like to play with their food before they eat it."

My mind conjures an image of Buttercup, Prim's mangy yellow cat that I absolutely loathed. "I hate cats," I mutter.

"So what's the plan?" Rye asks as we step off the elevator. "Come on, babe, you always have a plan."

Peeta shrugs. "We kill her before she kills us."

"I like that plan," Rye replies, nodding in satisfaction. "Simple. Easy to remember."

I shake my head. This is what my life has come to—casual, yet serious conversations about murder. I don't know what's worse, the fact that I consider these conversations normal or that I'm actually not opposed to the idea. One hand finds my stomach as the other twines with Peeta's. He squeezes my hand reassuringly.

I suppose it really doesn't matter which. I'll do anything to protect my family.

* * *

**And there we go! Wasn't Peeta just awesome? I do love that moment. I got to incorporate Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows with the "are you sure you want to play this game?" moment. I was so excited when that worked out. Mainly because it gave me the chance to imagine Robert Downey Jr. and all his sexiness when he replies, "I'm afraid you would lose." One of my favorite scenes in the entire movie.**

**But that's just a little off topic.**

**So, Peeta seems to be getting better doesn't he? But, if you haven't noticed . . . he hasn't had his big breakdown moment yet. And for those of you who remember, I said before that Chapter 19 is that particular chapter. And this is Chapter 18. Which means 19 is next. Hey, look at that! I can count.**

**Next chapter is my absolute favorite. Just so you know. Oh, and if you're a crier . . . read the next chapter with a box of tissues. Just a warning. :)**

**Summary time: Peeta is slightly less awkward and had a Robert Downey Jr. moment of awesomeness, Gale has an uncomfortable wedgie, Coin ate some really hot jalapenos and didn't have a glass of water on hand, Katniss is contemplating murder and its justifiableness, Buttercup's ghost subsequently comes back to haunt her, Rye is Capt. Jack Sparrow, and Haymitch is the reason the rum is always gone.**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Peeta!**

**"I killed them! I snapped both their necks!"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	19. Come Rain or Come Shine

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm gonna have to keep this short. Spring Break has finally arrived and in my haste to flee to vacation, I didn't bring my laptop. Currently typing this on the phone. Could I probably go downstairs and use a computer? Yeah, but this was more of a challenge. What can I say? I can't resist a challenge. **

**So! The time has come at last! Oh, the wonderful (tearful) breakdown! I AM SO EXCITED! And I guess I'll just let you read!**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Peeta: Wow...did all that really just happen?**

******************************************Katniss: This is intense, AC.**

******************************************Rye: Like, seriously. Why must you make my brother cry?**

******************************************Peeta: Dude, I'm sobbing hysterically by the end of this...not cool...**

******************************************Haymitch: What we have here is a failure to communicate...**

******************************************Me: Alright, alright! I get it! I'm mean. But need I remind you that in order for Studly (that's you Peeta, darling) to achieve epic badassness for the finale of this story, this is necessary.**

******************************************Peeta: Epic badassness, huh?**

******************************************Katniss: That's hot.**

******************************************Me: Oh honey, you have no idea.**

* * *

Chapter 19: Come Rain or Come Shine

_I'm gonna love you like nobody's loved you, come rain or come shine_

_High as a mountain and deep as a river, come rain or come shine  
_

_I guess when you met me, it was just one of those things  
_

_But, don't ever bet me, 'cause I'm gonna be true if you let me  
_

* * *

I wake up alone.

It's nothing new.

In fact, it has become such a staple in my life over the past month or so that I don't even question it anymore. I no longer tense in worry when I note the lack of extra warmth in the bed. I no longer force my eyes open to go looking for him. But the brief sense of panic the moment I wake and realize he's gone—again—I have yet to become accustomed to.

The extra room at the foot of the bed tells me that Maya is gone as well. I'm not surprised. She always goes with him. They're inseparable. Truthfully, it seems as though Maya realizes how much he needs her, even if he doesn't realize it himself. She'll always take her place beside him, sitting or lying down at his feet. Sometimes, as if she senses his discomfort, she'll lick his hand or lay her head in his lap, forcing him to pet her.

Irrationally, this always angers me. A wolf can help Peeta, but me—Katniss Mellark, his wife—cannot.

I try. Every single day I try to help him, but I simply don't know how. Every day I've watched him retreat further and further within himself. I've stood by, unable to do anything, and watched as Peeta built a wall around his heart—brick by brick. I can't seem to reach him anymore. The brief glimpses of his true self that existed a month ago are extinct now. When I look into his eyes, I see layers and layers of blue that have hardened with a potent cocktail of regret, vengeance, pain, and rage. His eyes no longer shine. His touches hold all the gentleness in the world, and yet the emotion behind them has been extinguished.

I try to help him. I try to help him remember good times, but every time I recall a memory, the happiness attached to it seems to both pain and anger him. At one point, when I tried to remind him of our perfect moment—our toasting—he began to shake so badly I thought he would slip into a flashback. And suddenly, Maya was there at his side, nuzzling his leg, forcing his attention onto her. Amazingly, after a few minutes, Peeta seemed to come back to himself.

We never spoke of it again. In fact, after that incident, I stopped trying to remind him of the good times. It just wasn't worth it if he slipped into a flashback.

And so for the past month, I've been forced to watch Peeta slip further and further away from me knowing that I could do nothing to stop it. I'd gone to Dr. Riley, begging her for some magic answer, for some shred of advice of how to help him. I was disappointed. Apparently, according to Dr. Riley, there was nothing I could do. Peeta was at a crossroads.

"He'll either choose to brave the pain of his capture, accept it and acknowledge it, or he'll continue to slip away and become a shell of a man you once knew." The words seemed as though they cost her dearly to say. I knew it to be true. Dr. Riley had come to care for us both, as if we were just another couple of grandkids. She hated that we were suffering, and more so she hated that there was nothing she could do about it.

"I wish I could make it all better, sweetie," she told me. "I wish I knew all the answers, but I don't. No one does. But maybe . . . maybe this question holds an answer only Peeta can unlock. Maybe he's reached the point where no one else can help him. Perhaps it's time for him to help himself."

Haymitch hadn't a better answer when I'd gone to him. "Sweetheart, there's nothing we can do," he said. "Wish there was. All you can do is be there for him, even if he resents you for it. You stick by his side. Because if you leave him, we'll never get him back."

The thought hadn't crossed my mind. I had made my decision the day of his first flashback. Hell, I had made my decision that night long ago in the rain. I'm not whole without Peeta. Could I function without him? Of course, I could. A part of me will forever be Katniss Everdeen—self reliant, huntress. But that identity no longer defines me wholly. I've grown. I've learned that that persona is not all that I can be. I can be Katniss Mellark.

But that title hardly means anything if Peeta is not with me. Yes, I could go on after Peeta, but my existence would mean nothing to me. And frankly, simply living to live . . . it almost seems like a fate worse than death. To be trapped in a sort of limbo of nothingness, with no desire for anything other than your most basic needs. It's a half-life.

It's a life I refuse to lead.

Somehow, someway, I have got to reach Peeta. I have to save him from himself. I have to knock down every stone around his heart, just as he did for me during our first Games. I have to bring him back to the world. I have to bring him back to me.

I have to bring him home.

Slowly, I ease myself into a sitting position, absently rubbing my gigantic stomach. Eight months along and I feel like a whale. A really big, fat whale. I'm actually waddling now. My walk is a waddle. A _waddle_.

If I even cared enough at this point, I would be embarrassed. But quite honestly, I don't give a damn. I'm pregnant. A universal excuse to use whenever and however I want.

The shower feels heavenly. I stand in the warm water, letting it wash over me and gently pound out the tenseness of my muscles. I once joked that Peeta would send me into premature labor, but as the days continue to pass, I wouldn't be surprised at all. The mounting stress of his depressive, despondent state is driving me on the verge of insanity. It's just so frustrating. To be unable to reach, unable to help the one person you love most in the world. It's a degrading, oppressive feeling of uselessness that causes tears to slip from my eyes.

I have to find a way to reach him. Before it's too late.

A knock on the door prompts me to tense. "Yes?" I ask hesitantly as I shut the water off and grab a towel.

"Katniss?"

Months ago, Peeta wouldn't have bothered to knock. Months ago, he would have walked right in, poked his head in the shower just to see me naked and waggle his eyebrows playfully—only to get water splashed in his face. Which, of course, prompted the only logical conclusion: he had to join me.

"What, you got me wet," he would say with smirk. "Might as well go for it."

But now, it's different. Now, he knocks.

I hate it.

"Yeah?" I call as I hurriedly pull a shirt over my head. "What do you need?"

"Um . . ." he hesitates. "I was just thinking that . . ."

Oh, I would love to know what he was thinking. Anything to give a clue as to how to help him.

I finally open the door and nearly walk smack into his chest. The sudden closeness startles him slightly, and he automatically takes a step backward, though he tries to pass it off as simply giving me room to walk by him. I play along and walk into the bedroom, gently easing myself onto the bed. I sit patiently, watching as he tries to school his features to hide whatever emotion he's feeling. I used to be able to read him like an open book. Even when he first came here, I could still read him. But now, in the past month, he's a riddle to me.

Maya trots over to me, laying her head in my lap. I absently pet her, scratching behind her ears occasionally, as I wait for Peeta to finish whatever thought he had. But after another few seconds I grow impatient and decide that if it's giving him this much trouble, maybe I should offer him a way out of it. So, I try to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"Where did you go?"

The guarded look in Peeta's eyes intensifies. "Here and there," he answers vaguely. "The soldiers I pass aren't my biggest fans. I make them nervous."

I knew that he always got up and wandered the winding labyrinth of District 13. I could also understand how his late night wanderings would make the soldiers anxious. A tortured Capitol prisoner, recovering from a well-known (and violent) bout of PTSD, aimlessly walking about in the middle of the night—yes, I could understand their anxiety. Personally, I didn't quite know what to make of his walks. Maybe he just needed space. Maybe he just needed to be alone. I don't know.

"Then I went by to see Haymitch," he says with a shrug. "Came back here."

Haymitch. That's another thing. Peeta will talk for hours in private with Haymitch. I don't know what these conversations are about firsthand, but I can guess: Coin. They are planning, preparing. And they are leaving me out of it. If I wasn't pregnant, I would be pissed. As it is, I still am a little. But, in all honesty, all that matters to me is the baby. He or she deserves my entire focus.

A light always enters Peeta's eyes before he goes to see Haymitch, and it's still present for a while when he returns. It's the only sign that the Peeta who stood up to Coin is still present. He's still fighting. But he's focusing on someone other than himself. I could understand why. It's much easier to fight someone else rather than yourself.

"Okay," I reply to his meager explanation of his whereabouts. "I was just wondering where you were."

For a moment, I see a flash of guilt, but Peeta blinks and then the blip of emotion is gone.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, though his voice is hollow. "I just don't want to wake you up."

Nightmares. They were still very prevalent, although not to the degree as they were earlier in his recovery. They hardly ever consume him so entirely that he will thrash or scream in his sleep. I don't tell him that I always wake up when he has a nightmare. Even if he no longer thrashes or screams, he still talks. Always, I soothe him with a song and he's able to find some solace.

However, the next time I wake up—just like this morning—he will be gone.

"Why do you leave?" I ask before I can stop myself. "Why?"

Peeta's face remains stoic. "I don't want to wake you up," he repeats.

"No. It's more," I retort, pushing him for a real answer. "Tell me."

But he doesn't. Instead, he says, "I may leave . . . but I'll always come back."

My heart nearly skips a beat at his words. "Why?" I implore. I have to know his reason. I have to hear him say it.

"Because I promised," he replies, and immediately my heart falls.

A memory stirs. The arena burning around us. The trees swaying violently in the wind. _I can't promise to never leave you, but I can promise that I'll always find a way back to you._

_I'll come back to you, I promise._

Peeta came back, but not entirely. There's a part of him that I can't reach—the part of him that made me that promise in the first place. And so his repetition of that promise now is practically meaningless. The words slipped from his lips like an obligation. Not a promise.

I also can't deny that these weren't even the words I wanted to hear in the first place. I wanted him to say three words. Three little words that meant everything to me, that used to fall from his lips so easily and freely. Three little words that would be spoken softly with great sincerity: I love you.

The last time I heard him say those precious words, we were in the arena. Ever since his return, he's yet to even mention the word "love," let alone associate me with it. I know he loves me. In my heart, I know that he does—completely and truly. But the words have not been spoken. I tell him, of course—every day, just as I'd promised him the first night he lay in the hospital in 13.

I can't describe the pain of saying those words, meaning them so wholeheartedly, and being met with silence.

"Katniss?"

His voice snaps me back to the present.

"Sorry," I apologize. "Lost in thought . . . a memory."

Peeta doesn't inquire as to which one. He doesn't ask many questions anymore.

With a small sigh, I glance at the clock on the nightstand. I had an appointment with Dr. Riley at ten o'clock and it was nine-thirty. It was always a good idea to get there a little early, and since she only had two other pregnant patients, she could usually see me before the scheduled time. I look up at Peeta, biting my lip. He didn't go to my last appointment due to a flashback.

He had to go. He couldn't _not_ go. This was his child. He'd want to go, wouldn't he? It's Peeta for god's sake . . .

But that's just it. I don't know this Peeta. Could he . . . would he actually say, "no?"

"Peeta," I begin hesitantly. "Um, I have an appointment with Dr. Riley in a few minutes." I pause when Peeta goes very still, and a tremble begins to build in his hands that he tries to quell by clinching them into fists. "Will you go with me?" I ask in a small voice that I hardly recognize.

There's a very tense moment when I'm nearly positive he's going to say no. But then, he takes a deep breath and gives me a poor excuse for a smile. "Of course."

I can't help the smile that automatically brightens my face, full of relief and tentative excitement. "Come on," I say, grabbing his hand. He doesn't startle so much anymore at my touch. Only when I catch him off guard. "If we get there early, there's a chance we won't have to wait as long."

"Why do we want to get there early?" Peeta asks as we step into the elevator. "You hate hospitals almost as much as I do."

"Because we won't have to wait as long," I repeat. "Dr. Riley doesn't get a lot of pregnant patients, so she usually has some extra time available. Besides, I hate waiting."

When we arrive at the hospital, I lead Peeta in the opposite direction that he takes for his physical therapy. Which, might I add, is going splendidly. He's gained back at least ten pounds of what he lost, although it's not the rock-hard muscle that I remember. Still, at this point, I'm not going to be picky. What matters is that he isn't so skinny anymore.

Dr. Riley's office is actually a small suite. The waiting room is full of comfy chairs and sofas (comfortable for 13 at least), and there are some old magazines that you can read if you really get desperate. I sign in at the registration desk, despite the fact that the two nurses who man the station know me by name.

"Hey Katniss," Alice chirps happily. She's an exceptionally chipper girl about my age, with short, spiky black hair and bright green eyes. She's even smaller than I am (when I wasn't pregnant). I'm a good four inches taller than she is. Dr. Riley calls her a prodigy, which I take as to mean "a really smart person." That doesn't really matter to me, and it doesn't seem to make a difference to Alice either. "How are you today?"

"Fine," I reply with a small smile.

"Do you feel like a whale yet?"

"You have no idea."

"Oh!" Alice claps happily when she finally takes notice of Peeta. "You're here!" Excitedly, she turns to her cohort, Rosalie. "Rose, look! Peeta's here!"

Rose is tall, blonde, and gorgeous. There's simply no other way to put it. Her blonde hair falls to her waist in perfect curls that she insists is natural. Her ice blue eyes are captivating and alluring, just as she wants them to be. Of course, Rosalie's beauty is coveted by all men, but she turns them all down with an almost indulgent grin. Rosalie is happily married and currently holds the record in 13 for giving birth to the most kids since the measles outbreak—her brood totals five at the moment.

Rosalie gives Peeta a small, but genuine smile. "Hello Peeta," she says. "Glad you can be here."

"Me too," Peeta replies.

"Oh, isn't it wonderful!" Alice continues to gush. "I knew you'd come back!" she tells Peeta. "You can't fight true love. Nope. No, you can't."

Rosalie rolls her eyes. "Don't mind, Alice. She's a little more excitable than usual today."

"Why?" I ask curiously and Alice promptly throws her left hand in my face.

"See?!" she squeals as she shows off the sparkly ring adorning her finger. "Jasper proposed!"

"Finally," Rosalie mutters under her breath, but Alice doesn't hear her.

Jasper is a rogue soldier who actually managed to find 13 on his own. I've only met him once, but I automatically liked him. He is definitely a soldier, you can tell, but it isn't all that he is. He is gentle and kind, with an incredibly dry sense of humor. He exudes a calm, easy air that relaxes everyone around him. Simply put, I approve of Alice's choice in men.

Though I must point out that Peeta is superior to Jasper in every way. Yes, I know. I'm biased.

"That's wonderful, Alice," I congratulate her with a smile. "Really."

Rosalie gives a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. "You might want to head back to Dr. Riley's office," she says. "She's ready for you, and besides . . . if you don't leave now, Alice will drag you into wedding plans."

"Oh! Speaking of which—"

"You heard her Alice," I interrupt quickly. "Got to go."

Alice frowns, pouting. "You're no fun, Katniss."

The moment we're out of earshot, Peeta whispers, "She scares me."

"Why? Because she's happy?" I retort without thinking, causing Peeta to pause mid-step.

He stares at me for a moment before shrugging slightly. "Maybe."

And so because I put my foot in my mouth, we enter the small hospital room in an awkward silence that Dr. Riley immediately senses. Thankfully, she pretends otherwise. "Katniss, you know the drill," she says and I roll my eyes and nod.

As I'm getting situated, Dr. Riley looks at Peeta. "Well, you don't look terrible," she says. "I think it might be helpful to put a little sparkle in those blue eyes. According to Rye, you used to be able to make a woman swoon with just one look."

Peeta raises his eyebrows. "I think you're talking about Finnick."

"Odair?" Dr. Riley shakes his head. "Oh no. That boy doesn't have time to make other girls swoon. I don't think he's left Annie's side for a minute since she's been back."

I smile to myself, knowing the story behind them. "Our days of a catatonic Finnick are gone."

"Thank goodness," Dr. Riley sighs. "A man that handsome should not look so miserable."

Regrettably, I haven't been able to see Finnick much since Peeta's return. Part of the reason was that both of us were caring for our significant others. After Peeta's release from the hospital, we saw more of each other, and I finally got the chance to meet Annie. Annie was the sweetest person I had ever met. There was such a child-like innocence about her most of the time that her excitement was nearly contagious. However, there were times when a light would enter her eye and she would begin to mumble—those were the times when she looked thousands of years old, haunted by too much too young.

Finnick had transformed to the man I met in the arena, but with the added happiness that being near Annie brought him. Peeta and I made sure to eat with them at least once a week. Well, I made sure to eat with them once a week. Peeta simply came with me.

Once we move away from the question and answer portion of the appointment, Dr. Riley preps the sonogram. Tentatively, I lift up my shirt to expose my distended stomach in all it's glory. I hope no one can see the blush on my cheeks. I know it might seem stupid . . . but this is the very first time Peeta has seen my bare stomach since the night before the Quell.

It's safe to say a _lot_ has changed since.

Out of the corner of my eye, I try to read Peeta's reaction, but I can't see through his mask.

I tense when Dr. Riley slathers my stomach with the cold, clear goo. "Why must that be so cold?" I complain.

"Because I'm a sadist and I like to make you squirm," Dr. Riley retorts without missing a beat, and I roll my eyes.

Without further fanfare, she places the "magic" wand over my stomach and in the next second, the sound of a little heartbeat fills the room. I can't help but smile at the comforting sound. I glance at Peeta, and for the first time in a month, I see his emotionless mask crack. I watch, slowly, as the tiniest of smiles curves his lips.

Wordlessly, I take his hand and hold it tight.

"Just as strong as ever," Dr. Riley comments. "But let's have a lookie-loo."

My eyes leave Peeta's to focus on the monitor. As the months have gone by, I've watched as my child grew to resemble more and more like a tiny human. I remember the days when I could hardly distinguish any definitive characteristic. Now, I see tiny feet and hands. Little arms and legs. A button nose.

There's a miniature person inside me. Still, after eight months, the fact continues to amaze me.

When I'm able to tear my eyes away from the image, I look at Peeta. What I see nearly causes me to cry. Pain. And guilt. So much guilt. So much _needless_ guilt. It's not his fault that he missed so much. I don't blame him. I could never blame him. But, it's obvious that Peeta feels he deserves the blame.

Before I can reassure him that he has nothing to be guilty for, Peeta mutters something indistinguishable under his breath that still sounds suspiciously like "sorry" and bolts from the room before I can stop him. I lay there in shock for a moment, staring at the open door where he disappeared.

"Don't be angry with him, sweetie," Dr. Riley says quietly. "He has a lot to process."

"But he's known—"

"Honey, knowing what he's missed out on is one thing. But seeing, for the first time, exactly all that you've had to go through alone, all that he's missed . . ." Dr. Riley sighs. "It's a hard pill to swallow."

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. What do I do? Do I go to him? Or should I leave him be? Is this a time when I push or when I take a step back? Throughout all my confusion, anger begins to flicker to life within me. An anger that I know I have no right to feel, but slowly begins to consume me. Why couldn't he just accept it? Why? Why couldn't he move on? Why couldn't he be who I remembered? Why couldn't he be the man who always greeted me with a smile? Why couldn't he be the man who kissed me any chance he got? Why couldn't he be the man who always knew what I was thinking? Why couldn't he be the man that I never had to worry about? The man that I could always count on?

Damn it! Why couldn't he just be who he used to be?

Almost as if sensing that I'm about to explode, Dr. Riley quickly cleans off all the goo and the moment I'm free, I'm striding toward the door as quickly as I can. I don't even bother saying goodbye to Alice or Rosalie as I walk right past their desk, ignoring Alice's bubbly babble.

Everyone in the hall that I pass practically leap out of the way as I plow through him. I punch the button for the elevator with such force that a thin crack runs from top to bottom. I'm too mad to even think about what ridiculous punishment my destruction of property might invoke. District 13 is the last thing on my mind. My mind is focused entirely on Peeta and how I'm angry that he's running from me.

The moment the doors open onto our floor, I'm marching down the hall to our door. Haymitch passes me and merely raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything. Good. I can't stand to hear one sarcastic comment out of his mouth. Not now. I might just slap him.

With raging pregnancy hormones, you never know.

I nearly yank the doorknob off in my haste to throw open the door. My feet carry me into the room as the door slams loudly into the wall, before bouncing back and softly closing with a _click_ behind me. I open my mouth, ready to yell at Peeta and unleash my irrational anger, but the look on Peeta's face extinguishes the fire within me.

He looks broken. For once, I see true emotion on his face. I just wish it could have been a positive emotion. Instead, I'm staring into the miserable, guilt-ridden face of my husband. His haunted, angry blue eyes are filled to the brim with tears, just waiting to spill over and down his cheeks. His hands are clinched in fists at his sides, his shoulders are hunched with a weight that seems to force him to his knees. Helplessly, he looks up at me, eyes wide in a silent plea.

Only I have no idea how to help him.

Slowly, I approach him until I'm a foot from him. On his knees, his face is perfectly level with my stomach. Tentatively, he places a hand on my stomach. Almost as if he sensed his father's touch, the baby kicks at the spot where Peeta's hand rests. At the sensation, a single tear slips from Peeta's eye. Finally, he whispers, "I've missed too much." He glances up at me, the sadness in his eyes intensifying to a depth I didn't know possible. "You've gone through too much alone, because of me."

"Peeta," I chide softly, running a hand through his hair. "I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you."

"Since when was doing the right thing so damn hard?" Peeta asks me as he glances at my stomach again. "I know that I did the right thing, but now—looking at all the pain I've caused you—it seems so wrong. I promised I'd be there for you and I wasn't. I promised that I'd come back to you, but I haven't."

"Peeta—"

"No!" Peeta suddenly jumps to his feet, running a hand through his hair as he begins to pace in front of me. "Katniss, you know it's true! Don't you see? Don't you get it? You're in love with a broken man!"

"And I love every broken piece of that man," I tell him gently, sincerely. "I love you."

"Why?" Peeta begs for an explanation, a reason. "How? How can you still love me? What can I possibly give you?" Tears begin to spill from his eyes in a steady stream. "You once told me that love was give and take. Katniss, I have nothing left to give! I can't love you like I want!" He quickly closes the distance between us, taking my face in his hands. Delicately, he caresses my face as he continues, "I know that I love you with all my heart." He chokes on a sob as he rests his forehead against mine. "I know that I do, but I just can't feel it! It—it just—_hurts_—too much."

"God, I've tried to feel," he whispers. "I've tried so hard, but it's like I can't reach it. I'm not capable anymore. I can't feel."

"Yes you can," I argue persuasively. "You're feeling now. You're angry. You're sad. You're guilty. That's still feeling."

"But it doesn't _matter_," Peeta argues. "Those feelings aren't what matter. I can't feel love. I can't feel happiness. I can't feel excitement. I can't feel any of those things that makes loving you such a joy. You deserve better than that."

Now, my anger returns. Is he really missing the obvious love in his words? In his gestures? Does he not realize that by doing the incredibly stupid thing of implying that I should leave him that he's being selfless? Again. Out of his love for me? Again.

"Love isn't about deserving!" I snap, forcing him to look at me. "Who deserves love, in all honesty? Who deserves to be treasured so completely by one person? Who deserves to learn that they're only half of a whole? Who deserves any of that? Love is a _gift_, Peeta. You are a gift, _my_ gift." I swallow a sob as I cradle his tear-streaked face in my hands. "I made you a promise a year ago. I promised to love you forever. I promised to always be there for you, for better or worse. I love you, Peeta," I whisper as my tears finally escape me. "No, you may not be entirely the same man I made that promise to, but that doesn't matter. I fell in love with this," I tell him, resting my hand over his heart. "I fell in love with someone whose heart was full of all the love and compassion this cruel world seemed to lack. I fell in love with someone whose heart was good and kind and brave. And that heart." My fingers curl into his shirt. "That heart still beats. Don't you see, Peeta?" I plead. "I will always love you because _at heart _you're still the same man I fell in love with."

"You shouldn't," Peeta whispers in a tear-filled voice. "I'm not who you think."

"Then who do you think you are?" I demand angrily as I wipe away my tears furiously. "Tell me! What makes you think that you're not worthy of anything good?"

"Because I'm not good!" Peeta shouts, shoving himself away from me to pace once more. A slightly manic light has entered his eye, and I notice Maya's ears twitch in response. "I'm not that person anymore! I've done things. Horrible things. And I don't feel a shred of guilt. I don't care that they died! I don't care that I killed them!"

Who is he talking about? Tributes? "Who did you kill, Peeta?" I ask confused.

Peeta suddenly laughs, sounding slightly hysterical. "I don't know! I don't know their names! Personally, I called them Thing 1 and Thing 2!" I swallow thickly as I realize who he may be talking about. "What they did to me," Peeta growls. "Human beings don't do that, but I proved to be no better than them." He shakes his head. "No. I'm no better."

"Peeta," I say hesitantly. "What did you do?"

"Aren't you listening?" Peeta cries. "I killed them! I snapped both their necks! And you know, it was too easy! It was too easy a way for them to go! They thought they knew pain. But they didn't."

"Why did you kill them, Peeta?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm. I recognize the sweat on his brow, the tremble slowly overcoming his body. Maya's eyes have yet to leave Peeta this entire time. She knows it's coming too.

Flashback.

My question, however, seems to calm Peeta somewhat. He looks at me, like I should realize exactly why he chose to end two of his tormentor's lives. "A guy can only listen for so long as two men explain to him—day after day, in intricate detail—how they're going to rape his wife."

His response brings me up short. "W-what?"

But Peeta has already moved on. "Those weren't the only two I killed!" He proclaims. "I killed another Peacekeeper who was beating on Johanna. They had us in the same cell once. I'd been knocked out. Woke up and he was just wailing on her. He didn't even hear me coming."

"I killed them Katniss," he spits. "I killed them and I don't care that they died."

Finally, I summon up my courage. "If that were true, you wouldn't have been yelling about them for the past ten minutes," I tell him firmly. "You regret the loss of life."

"Just not the fact that it was theirs."

Peeta and I stare at each other for a long time, before he says, "The reason I ran out today is because I couldn't stand to see what I had missed. What the Capitol took from me. They took away my ability to feel. I won't be able to love my child like I should. Because it would hurt too much. I can't be a father. Not anymore." Anger flashes in his eyes, lighting his blue eyes brightly. Maya begins to whine. I take a cautious step toward Peeta. "It's all I wanted," he seethes.

"Peeta—"

"I just wanted to be with you—"

"—Peeta, calm down—"

"It was all I wanted! I just wanted you!"

"—Peeta, please—"

"NO!"

And before I realize what's happened, Peeta's hand has wrapped around my throat.

"Peeta!" I yell in a strangled voice as he backs me into the wall. "Peeta, snap out of it!"

As soon as the words leave my mouth, his hand vanishes. Peeta stares at me, eyes wide in horror and disbelief. He glances down at Maya, and then the bloody bite mark on his arm—the arm that belonged to the hand that had grabbed me. Both of us realize at the same time that he didn't snap out of the flashback because of my words. It was Maya and the pain of her bite.

The reality of what could have happened hits Peeta with the force of a sledgehammer, and he crumbles to the floor, immediately overcome with sobs. I'm crying too. I know that he would have come to his senses. I know it. Peeta would never hurt me . . . right?

Nonetheless, I feel my heart swell with love for the broken man at my feet. You can't define love. You can't put boundaries on love. No amount of pain will keep me from him. No amount of turmoil. I love him. And he loves me.

It's why this hurts so much.

I ease down to the floor beside him and wrap my arms around him. Peeta buries his face in my chest, sobbing freely and loudly, as he clings to me as though I'm the only thing keeping him on the earth. "I'm sorry," he whispers over and over. "I'm so sorry." After a few seconds, he changes his plea. "Leave me," he whispers. "Please. Just leave me."

But I stay right where I am, because he's not asking me to physically leave, to let him cry in peace. He's literally asking me to leave him. To abandon him. To toss him aside like he's hopeless. Well, that's just not going to happen. I made a promise.

"Please, Katniss," he begs. "I can't hurt you. You're not safe. I can't keep you safe. Leave me. _Please_."

"Never," I whisper as I kiss his hair. "You're stuck with me."

Peeta's sobs eventually escalate to a level that prevents speech entirely. He's no longer crying for what happened minutes ago. He's crying for what happened two months ago. In a cold, dark cell where he was all alone. Where he sentenced himself to die. To protect me.

A song comes to mind as I hold him and try to soothe him. It's one that my father used to sing for my mother. The very first song he ever sung to her, and one that he made sure to repeat. To remind her that he loved her no matter what. It's just what Peeta needs to hear.

He needs to understand that I won't leave him.

And so I sing to him, as sweetly and truthfully as I possibly can.

_I'm gonna love you like nobody's loved you, come rain or come shine_

_High as a mountain and deep as river, come rain or come shine_

_I guess when you met me, it was just one of those things_

_But, don't ever bet me, 'cause I'm gonna be true if you let me_

If anything, at the sound of my song, Peeta's sobs increase in intensity, but I don't stop singing. He has to know. He has to understand.

_You're gonna love me like nobody's loved me, come rain or come shine_

_Happy together, unhappy together, and won't it be fine?_

_Days may be cloudy or sunny_

_We're in or we're out of the money_

I hold Peeta even closer to me as I finish the song, the words ringing soft, but true.

_But I'm with you always_

_I'm with you rain or shine_

* * *

**YES! FINALLY!**

**You guys have no idea how long I've been waiting to post this chapter. This chapter was what started this entire series. All through the first and second books, I was thinking of this scene and what I had to put PK through in order to get them to this point. All through this book, as I was writing, I was working up to this moment. This is truly the foundation of this entire story for me, which is exactly why I chose this song as both the title for this chapter and the story in general. "Come Rain or Come Shine" is all about loving someone no matter what, whether you're happy or unhappy, whether the days are cloudy or sunny. The point is that with Peeta and Katniss, they're with each other through the bad and the good, rain or shine.**

**All of this being said, I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this chapter. And, feel free to sigh in relief. The major angsty drama has passed. The sun is coming out. :)**

**I know that I would normally do a funny summary, but for this chapter it just doesn't seem right. All you need is the lyrics of this song.**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Katniss!  
**

**"Do you still want to die?"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	20. Open Arms

**A/N: Hey, guys! The storm has passed (for the moment). Okay, let me rephrase . . . the PK storm has passed. Naturally, there are other storms aka Hurricane Coin, still to come. ;)**

**Once again, I must praise you all for your awesomeness and your uncanny ability to make me blush with said praise. So, thank you from the very bottom of my heart (yes, all the way down to the deepest, darkest pits of my soul) for all of your reviews, alerts, and favorites. **

**Also, note the song for this chapter! See? I pulled out Journey for the occasion. Can't go wrong with Steve Perry . . .**

**Warning: This chapter contains explicit language due to the presence of one Johanna Mason. You have been warned.**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Me: Well, the worst is over people.**

******************************************Peeta: Thank god. **

******************************************Katniss: Yes. Thank you.**

******************************************Rye: Seriously, our tear ducts praise thee.**

******************************************Me: I know, I know . . . but you do know what this means, right?**

******************************************Finnick: I'm finally present in a chapter once more? You know you've missed me.**

******************************************Johanna: And don't you forget me! **

******************************************Me: Oh, could I?**

* * *

Chapter 20: Open Arms

_We sailed on together, we drifted apart_

_And here you are by my side_

_So now I come to you, with open arms_

_Nothing to hide, believe what I say_

_So here I am, with open arms_

_Hoping you'll see what your love means to me_

_Open arms_

* * *

_I'm in the Capitol cell once again, but this time it's different._

_Yes, I'm still crippled with burning pain that ruthlessly consumes my entire body. The cell is still dark, dank, and ominous. The stone floors and walls are stained with varying shades of red. The shackles that smother my wrists still chain me to the wall._

_However, the Peeta that sits beside me is not the Peeta of my imaginings. The real Peeta sits beside me now, the Peeta who is slowly beginning to heal from his time in this torture chamber._

_Dr. Riley had been right; Peeta had needed a breakdown. He had needed to reach his lowest low, and he finally had a month ago after that fateful doctor's appointment. The argument that took place in our compartment afterward, the resulting flashback that it prompted, the realization of what could have happened—Peeta broke. Completely._

_And it was for the best._

_Because now he can build himself back up, strive toward a new identity. It's a fresh start, and one that he desperately needs. _

"_Why did you bring me here?" he asks quietly as he surveys the walls. "I don't want to be here."_

_I shrug. "I can't control my subconscious."_

"_Try a little harder."_

"_Peeta," I chastise, though I take his hand and give it a squeeze. "You can't simply choose forget it happened. That didn't turn out too well, remember?"_

_Peeta flinches at the reminder and a familiar guilt shines his eyes. "I'm sorry."_

"_Don't be," I tell him gently. "And don't start with the whole, 'leave me for your own good' speech. It's not happening."_

_Peeta smiles wryly. "As long as you don't start with the, 'I'll never leave you so just deal with it' speech."_

"_We're a mess."_

"_Completely. But that's just us, I think."_

_I smile slightly. Since Peeta's breakdown, he's lost most of his scathing remarks. His sarcasm has lessened. Slowly, as the days have passed, he's become more and more of the Peeta I remember, and every day I get another glimpse of the man he will become. I won't be disappointed._

_We're quiet for a moment before Peeta suddenly speaks. He points to the far wall by the door and says, "Snow used to stand there," he admits softly. "To watch . . . and to taunt. He wanted me to break. And he wanted it to be because of him."_

"_But you didn't," I remind him. _

"_No," Peeta agrees. "Not completely anyway."_

_Silence falls over us once again, but after a few minutes I hesitantly ask, "Tell me more?"_

_Peeta's eyes harden. "You sure you want to know? I'm not going to censor anything."_

"_You need to talk about it," I tell him. "It'll help."_

"_I reserve the right to keep some things to myself," Peeta retorts determinedly. "Some things are better left unheard. Better left unsaid."_

"_Peeta," I protest slightly, but he raises his hand._

"_I'm not ignoring that it happened," he assures me. "I'm not going to shove it to the back of my mind and try to pretend it didn't happen." Peeta looks at me pleadingly. "But, Katniss, there are some things that happened in here that I'll never be able to put to words. And even if it were possible, I'd never share them with you."_

"_Still protecting me?"_

"_It's kinda what I do."_

"_Fine," I agree. "You can keep some secrets. But I'm beginning to think that your secrets have secrets."_

_Peeta smiles without humor. "You have no idea."_

"_And I'll never know."_

"_Not even a little."_

_I hide how much this bothers me. There were never any secrets between us before. But that was before. This is now. I'll just have to accept it._

"_I guess I can give you an idea of what a typical day was like," Peeta says eventually. His eyes narrow at the door. "Every morning at precisely seven o'clock, an Avox would deliver a tray of food and a pitcher of water. Just enough to keep me alive. Nothing more, nothing less." _

_I watch him carefully as he begins to paint a picture in my mind's eye. Peeta's eyes have glazed over slightly as he remembers what it was like. I don't think he's realized his hands have clinched into fists. "I'd have about an hour to myself before the Peacekeepers would come in. They actually weren't too bad. They might throw a few punches, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. They always made the mistake of coming too close. I could usually get in a hit or two." He smiles suddenly. "I broke one guy's nose. Bad. There was blood everywhere. He screamed like a little girl. It was kind of funny."_

_A memory enters my mind. Something that Dr. Riley told me when Peeta was first brought in. "Dr. Riley said that almost half of your wounds were defensive," I say quietly. "You fought back when you could."_

"_When I had the strength, yeah," Peeta admits. "Sometimes though, after a particularly harsh—" He pauses as he tries to find a word. "Session . . . I could hardly move for days without blacking out. I was constantly getting blood transfusions at night because I kept losing too much blood. It was always the same doctor." Peeta shakes his head. "The guy seemed to hate what he had to do. He hated seeing me. I know that he didn't approve of what they were doing. But he never said anything. Just took care of me and left. Sometimes, though, when it was really bad, he'd give me a shot of morphling. It just took the edge off, but it helped."_

_Peeta pauses then, seeming to search his mind for something he's willing to share. Finally, he actually stands up and goes to a spot near the middle of the room. "They started trying to hijack me after a few weeks, when they realized that I wasn't going to break the usual way. They would take me to another room, and even though they kept me chained, I still had some maneuvering room."_

_Something pricks at the back of my mind. I have a feeling I know how this story will end._

_When Peeta continues his story, he proves my hunch correct. "I've already told you that I killed two of my . . . interrogators. And why." His eyes darken in rage as he remembers what the Peacekeepers told him they would do to me. I shiver. The idea of a stranger's hands running over me . . ._

_Peeta sees my reaction. "I knew they couldn't get to you," he says. "But it was the idea. It was knowing that they were serious." Peeta takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, trying to calm his temper. It is much easier to provoke now. Finally he simply says, "I had to protect you."_

"_So you killed them."_

_He nods and points to a space near his right. "I took one of them by surprise. The venom usually made everything a little crazy. You know how it is. But this time it wasn't so bad. I could still tell what was real and what wasn't. I heard his neck snap, but I didn't see him fall." Peeta looks to his left now. "The other one jumped on me. That fight took longer. I broke his radio so he couldn't call for back up, and then it was just the two of us. Despite everything that had happened, I was still stronger than he was. I won."_

"_Of course, they killed me for it," Peeta adds like an afterthought. "But don't worry. As you can see, they brought me back."_

_I bite my lip as another memory enters my mind. One of Peeta's earliest flashbacks. "You said that they killed you three times," I say timidly. "And you said . . . you said that those were your happiest moments."_

_Peeta blanches. "Katniss, you have to try to understand. Being in here was hell. I don't regret it. I could never regret it. Because as long as I was here, you were safe. And that was all that I wanted." He sighs and surveys the room. "But as the days pass—days when you're in so much pain it eclipses your power to process it all—you start looking for a way for it to end. Even if it means death. Because in that moment, you just want the pain to stop. In that moment, Death is your friend."_

"_You wanted to die."_

"_Yes." _

I wake up with a gasp, breathing heavily.

"Katniss?" Peeta questions, immediately alert despite having just woken as well. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I assure him quickly. "Just, um, can you help me sit up?"

That's one thing that sucks about being thirty-eight weeks pregnant. I can't sit up without a little help. Okay, okay, technically I can . . . but it's a tiring experience.

"Bad dream?" Peeta asks once I'm leaning against the headboard. In a gesture that he wouldn't have attempted before his breakdown, he wraps his arm around me, tucking me closer into his side. I willingly nuzzle closer, my cheek rubbing against the soft material of his t-shirt.

A selfish part of me wishes that it was his bare skin. I miss the days when he slept shirtless. It wasn't purely for aesthetic reasons, though a shirtless Peeta was always something to marvel at, but it was the intimacy that I missed. The closeness.

I shove the thought to the back of my mind, and hug Peeta closer, resting my head on his chest. "It wasn't a bad dream necessarily," I admit after a moment. "Just . . . slightly disturbing."

Peeta tenses slightly. "Was it about our conversation earlier?"

The conversation about his imprisonment that I just relived in my dream? Yes.

My silence reveals my answer, and Peeta sighs. Before he can think that I'm not able to handle the truth, I quickly speak. "It's not like it was too much," I tell him. "It just makes me sad."

"I don't want to make you sad," he replies before whispering, "I want to make you happy."

I smile, kissing an exposed patch of skin along his collarbone. I ignore how he tenses just briefly. Anything remotely intimate makes him nervous. I have a few ideas as to why, but I haven't brought them up. I know that that intimate side of him will return, though. There are too many passionate nights branded into my memory to make me think otherwise.

"You do make me happy," I tell him. "Every day. Don't ever doubt that."

Peeta holds me in silence for a moment before he asks, "If the dream wasn't bad, then why'd you wake up like that?"

Hesitantly, I lift my head from his chest to stare at his face. The darkness of the room makes it hard to distinguish any clear features, but his blue eyes shine brightly. I stare into my favorite pair of blue eyes—eyes that have recently gained a hint of a hidden sparkle—and search for the answer to my question. I don't want to voice it.

"Katniss?" Peeta prompts, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Why?"

I sigh, giving in. "It's just something that you said. It just . . . made me think."

"About what?"

"Do you . . ." I take a shuddering breath. "Do you still want to die?"

There's a brief moment of silence as Peeta debates his answer. "No," he says, causing me to relax with relief. "Katniss, maybe I didn't explain it well enough. I never _really_ wanted to die. It was the pain that was ruling my mind. You can't help your thoughts when you're in that much pain. You can hardly remember your name. All that exists in that moment is the pain, and your only desire in that moment is to make it stop. But when the Capitol brought me back, I was always grateful. Because I didn't want to leave you."

I huff, exasperated. "Well, then why didn't you say that earlier?"

Even in the darkness, I can see his sheepishness. "Hey, cut me some slack, will you? It's hard to explain."

"I know," I reply softly. "Sorry."

"You know, lately we're apologizing to each other a lot."

"That's true. It's kinda weird."

"What? Apologizing in itself? Or that fact that _we_ are apologizing?"

"We never used to apologize."

"Yes we did. Well, _I_ did. You did on rare occasions. When you realized that makeup sex wouldn't solve everything."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I retort with a smile. "I don't remember you complaining." I meant for my comment to be light and teasing, but Peeta's muscles tense beneath me. "Peeta?" I question. "I didn't mean—"

"No, it's alright," he quickly interrupts. "It's nothing you said."

"Then what is it?" I ask in concern. "Tell me."

"Well," Peeta begins, sounding nervous and . . . embarrassed? "You just got me thinking."

"About what?"

"Sex."

"Okay . . ." I say slowly, trying to understand what's going through his mind. Peeta's thinking about sex. Typical guy thing to do.

"And about our lack of."

Suddenly, it all clicks in my mind and I press my lips tightly together so I don't laugh. This isn't a laughing matter, and I don't want to hurt Peeta's feelings, but he needs to know. "Peeta," I begin, and though I manage not to laugh, the smile in my voice is clearly heard. "If you're offering to have sex with me, I'm gonna have to say no for a few different reasons. One, sorry, but you're not ready. And that's okay because two, sex is the _last_ thing on my mind. Sex is what made me like _this_," I say, gesturing grandly to my swollen stomach. "Which, by the way, I am so ready to have this baby. I'm tired of feeling like a whale but waddling like a duck."

Peeta chuckles slightly and my eyes close at the sound. I missed his laugh.

"Seriously though," Peeta says. "I don't want you to think that I don't want to. I do. But, it just . . ."

"Doesn't feel right," I finish for him, repeating his own words back to him. "Peeta, it's okay."

I had an idea why Peeta was now so uncomfortable with sex. It wasn't that he was actually afraid or unwilling to do it. He was scared of the feelings behind it. If his memory was as good as mine, he knew for a fact that when we made love . . . we made love and then basked in it. If my guess is right, Peeta is afraid to feel so much so strongly. Strong, positive emotions still hurt him. Part of the reason is because I think he feels as though he doesn't deserve to feel them. Another part of the reason is that he's worried to feel so strongly and then be ripped away from me again.

"I just don't want you to think that I don't want you," Peeta says softly. He gently trails his fingertips over my cheekbone, and my eyes close without my permission. "You're everything to me."

It's in this moment that I'm grateful once again for his breakdown. Before that moment, he would never say what he just did so freely.

I open my eyes and smile. "Thanks. You're pretty important to me, too."

"Pretty important?" Peeta repeats in mock outrage. "That's all I am?"

"No," I admit, and in that moment I make a snap decision. Maybe, to ease Peeta's worries, I should gently guide him through his stronger emotions—like passion. I almost giggle to myself. It's like we're back in our cave during our first Games. Hesitant touches. Hesitant kisses. Only this time, it's him that will be struggling to keep up.

This could be really fun.

So I slowly lean in closer to him, giving him time to adjust to my closeness. He tenses, but I ignore him. I allow my lips to gently brush the skin of his neck. "You're far more than important," I breathe. I plant another soft kiss on his neck, a little higher than the previous. "You're my best friend." Another kiss. "You're my husband." Another kiss. I've reached his jaw. "You're the father of my child." Kiss.

Now, my lips are hovering just over his. I make sure to lock eyes with him as I say, "I need you. More than anyone or anything. You're my life."

And then I close my eyes and press my lips to his. It takes a moment before Peeta begins to return the kiss, and when he does it's hesitant, but I don't mind. Gently, I wrap my arms around his neck, threading a hand through his hair. Peeta tenses for a moment, because I've trapped him against me, but it passes in another second and he's kissing me again.

This second kiss is not as hesitant as the first. I internally rejoice when I feel one of Peeta's hands trail down my back. Taking it as a sign, I kiss him with more passion, and Peeta responds accordingly. Unable to help myself, my hands begin to roam, traversing the planes of his shoulders. At the touch, Peeta tenses just slightly. His shoulders still pain him. Somewhat more hesitantly, I allow my hands to rest on his chest. I can feel his heart hammering, and a thrill of power and satisfaction runs through me. I'm a whale and I can still make his heart race.

Suddenly, Peeta surprises me by deepening the kiss. The moan that escapes me is inevitable. And loud.

And regrettably snaps Peeta back to the present. Damn.

He pulls away from me, both of us breathing hard. I'm happy when he rests his forehead against mine, still showing comfort with us being this close. After he catches his breath he says, "Well, that was . . ."

"Fantastic."

I see Peeta smile in the darkness. "You still attack me."

"With good reason."

"Thank you," he says softly. "I needed that."

"You just have to get used to feeling so strongly again," I tell him. "Baby steps."

"That was a baby step?"

"Hey, you're the one that made the leap."

I rest my head on his shoulder contentedly, smiling when I feel Peeta press a kiss to my hair. We're silent for a moment before he says, "Well, this conversation has been extremely enlightening. Remind me how we went from talking about me wanting to die to having sex?"

I giggle. "I have no idea."

Peeta glances at the clock. "It's about time to get up anyway."

I groan, snuggling further into Peeta's warmth. "No, it's not," I argue. I don't want to move. The mood is too good. Too calm and content. It's a feeling that I've not shared with Peeta for too long, and I miss it dearly. Peeta is slowly coming back to me. Except for his sometimes darker personality and the obvious danger that he seems to unknowingly radiate, he's the Peeta I remember. The kind twinkle in his eye has returned, though it hides behind an ominous glint.

"Five more minutes then," Peeta agrees, holding me to him.

I smile as I continue to ponder the changes in him. So much progress has been made in the past month. I remember my prediction I made about his future personality as I watched his first physical therapy session. So far, I've been spot on. Peeta is much the same person he was, but with a few twists. He is no longer an idealist, but a realist. He's learned the hard way that sometimes good does not overcome evil. He is not as trusting as he once was, and I know that at the moment, he only trusts three people wholeheartedly: me, Haymitch, and Rye. Everyone else he regards with hidden suspicion and caution, some more than others. His optimism and cheerfulness that initially drew me to him are gone, replaced with a calm contentment. Then there's the darker side of him, the violent side of him that was created within the walls of the Capitol's cell. The side of him that's willing to kill. The side of him that's dangerous and should not be provoked.

But I don't mind this new development—it makes me feel safer.

"Our five minutes are up," Peeta announces. "Come on. We've got a date with Johanna."

Johanna. In some ways, she's been having an even harder time than Peeta. For the past month, we've been unable to see her. After one of her doctors discovered her stealing morphling from another patient, they realized she had a terrible addiction. When I had told Peeta, he didn't seem too surprised, revealing that it wasn't uncommon when they were captive for them to get shot with some morphling to calm them and prevent retaliation—which both of them were known to do.

So for the past month, Johanna hasn't been allowed visitors in order for her to go through detox and a rehabilitation program. This is her first day where she will be allowed visitors, and Peeta is adamant that we go. I don't blame him. I want to see Johanna, too.

It takes thirty minutes before both of us are ready to go. I stop at the door, an idea coming to me. "Do you think we should take Maya?" I ask Peeta. "She might help."

Peeta glances down at the wolf that is currently blocking the door, staring at us with an expression that says, "You better not leave me here."

"I think it would be alright," he finally decides after a moment.

"Well we need to take her with us anyway," I say as I remember something important. "Lieutenant Caine asked me to bring Maya down sometime today so she could work with her. She's worried Maya might have lost some of her bomb detection skills."

Peeta, of course, knows about Maya's new talent, but he's yet to see her in action. "That could be fun to watch. At least as long as she's with us, she'll be able to warn us if Coin put a bomb under the bed or something."

Well, I suppose that's one way of looking at it.

"Speaking of Coin and assassination attempts," I whisper as we walk down the hallway. "Have you and Haymitch decided to stop conspiring in secret and let me in on the plan?"

"No."

"Peeta—"

"I promise we'll tell you," he says sincerely. "But right now, I just want you to focus on you and the baby."

I scowl, but mutter, "Fine then."

The ride down to the hospital floor is silent, but not uncomfortably so. Maya seems happy with the pleasant atmosphere—her tail has yet to stop wagging.

When we step off the elevator, I notice Peeta's eyes sweep the room. He still has some hyper vigilant tendencies at times, and I imagine those tendencies are simply a part of him now: sweeping the room, noting escape routes, and possible threats. I frown when I see him tense slightly and follow his line of sight.

I scowl.

My mother is organizing charts near the front desk. Our relationship has not mended since our argument nearly three months ago. In fact, I can honestly say that we haven't so much as seen each other during that time, despite how often I was visiting the hospital. It's safe to say that whatever semblance of a relationship we had is gone. A part of me mourns the mother I lost, the mother I really didn't have. I felt cheated in many ways. However, for the vast majority of the time, I truthfully didn't give a thought to my mother. She's out of my life.

I assume Peeta's reaction is due to the discord between myself and my mother—discord caused by him. Wordlessly, I take his hand. "Let's go," I say softly. "It's not your fault."

"You should have a relationship with your mother," Peeta retorts as we walk down the hallway, out of my mother's sight. "You can fix it."

"There's nothing to fix, Peeta."

He has always defended my mother to me; always urged me to mend my relationship with her. He's the reason my mother and I were on fairly genial terms for the majority of a year. I know why, even if he doesn't. Peeta's relationship with his own mother was completely beyond repair. He aches for what he lost, and doesn't want me to feel the same way. The problem with his theory is this: I'm not as good a person as he is. I have no desire to repair the relationship. All bridges have been burned, and I'm not about to try to rebuild them, only to have her light them up once again.

Peeta's eyes narrow for a moment, debating whether to push the issue. I'm glad when he sighs and relaxes, giving my hand a squeeze.

We reach Johanna's wing of the hospital fairly quickly. She's been transferred to Peeta's old room, actually. Before Peeta raises his hand to knock, I ask, "Do you want me to wait outside?"

This is the first time Peeta and Johanna will have seen each other since being rescued by 13. They may want to talk about things that neither of them want me to hear. Plus, from the little Peeta has told me about his capture, I know that he and Johanna grew very close. Maybe it would be best for me to give them some time by themselves.

Peeta seriously considers the question, before shaking his head. "Johanna's not as censored as I am. Frankly, she'll answer any question you want about our time in the Capitol, and she'll answer it sarcastically and blithely, like it doesn't bother her at all. It's how she copes. Probably better than what I tried to do, but just know what you may be stepping into."

"She's my friend, too, Peeta," I say and with that I knock on the door.

"If you don't have food, I don't want to see you!"

I glance at Peeta, who merely rolls his eyes. He opens the door and steps into the room. Maya and I follow behind him. "What about an old friend?" he asks with a slight smile.

"Golden Boy!" Johanna's thin face lights up, giving her frail-looking form life. "Long time no see."

"You look like hell," he retorts as he takes a seat near the bed.

"And you're not as buff as I remember you being," she retorts. "Where'd those godly muscles disappear to? You look like a wimp." Her eyes suddenly spot me. "And who's the whale?"

"Missed you too, Johanna," I respond wryly as I ease into the chair next to Peeta.

Johanna's eyes remained glued to my stomach. "It looks like a tumor," she says. "A freakishly large tumor that sucks all the life out of you."

Well, it's good to see you too, Johanna.

"I wouldn't go that far," I say. "But I do get tired easily these days."

"And you brought Lassie with you," Johanna continues as she looks at Maya, who is sitting between Peeta and I, eyeing Johanna curiously. "How sweet."

"I thought she might help," I explain. "She's certainly helped me and Peeta. Finnick, too."

"What am I supposed to do?" Johanna retorts. "Whisper all my secrets and hope she understands? Does she give good advice?"

"You might be surprised."

"I hate surprises."

Okay, so Maya wouldn't be helping Johanna. It was worth a shot at least. We fall into a moment of awkward silence before Johanna begins to speak.

"So, Golden Boy," she says, looking at Peeta. "How you been? I hear you have quite a temper these days. Already told Coin to shove it. Guess Snow actually got something right, keeping us locked up, huh? Confrontation isn't so scary anymore, is it? Not when you know all the tricks."

"She's nothing I can't handle," Peeta replies evenly.

"Yeah," Johanna agrees. "She's nothing compared to those Peacekeepers you killed, right?" Peeta tenses at the reminder, but Johanna either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "Couldn't believe it when I found out," she says. "But, hey, I guess some good things came out of that place."

Johanna suddenly turns to me. "You know he was tortured for days because he killed those two pricks," she tells me. "Never seemed to stop screaming. But, of course, by that time, we were already very familiar with each other's screams."

"Jo," Peeta warns threateningly, but Johanna is nonplussed.

"What? My therapist says I should be honest."

"Keep some things to yourself."

"What? Oh, come on, Peeta!" Johanna huffs in annoyance. "Why shouldn't she know what we went through, huh? Why shouldn't she?"

"It's okay, Peeta." I thread his fingers through mine, trying to assure him that I'm strong enough to hear whatever horrors might come out of Johanna's mouth. But if I'm being honest, I'm trying to reassure myself as well. "I'm fine."

Peeta studies my face for a moment but says nothing. He turns back toward Johanna. "So how are you?"

"Why, I'm just as happy as I can be," Johanna replies sarcastically. "Why shouldn't I be? I'm in District 13, the savior of Panem! I'm in the company of the two people who are even more messed up than myself. I'm trapped in a little white room that does nothing for my mood. Needs a splash of color, if you ask me. Oh, and let's see . . . yeah, I've got nightmares that would even make Snow shit himself. I can't seem to stop shaking because nothing sounds better than a shot of morphling. And damn it, I would love to take a shower without thinking that I was going to die." Johanna scoffs, whether at herself or us, I don't know. "Yeah. I'm fucking ecstatic."

"I can tell," Peeta replies drily. "Want to escape?"

Johanna's eyes light up. "Really? You can bust me out of here?"

"For a while."

"I'll take that."

And before I can even protest, Johanna is slipping out of bed while Peeta is getting her clothes. "Um, am I the only one who sees the problem with this plan?" I ask as Johanna throws a soldier's uniform over her skinny form. "I don't think you're supposed to leave."

"And since when do I give a damn about rules?" Johanna asks with a slightly maniacal grin. "Come on, Preggers. Don't spoil my fun."

My eyes narrow. "Never call me that, again."

"Really, she hates any and all nicknames," Peeta adds as he tosses Johanna a jacket.

Our friend's eyes narrow as she gazes back and forth between us. "So, is all the drama settled between you then? I've heard rumors."

"Finnick?"

"You can torture me," Johanna replies with a dark smirk. "But I'll never tell."

Peeta actually rolls his eyes, amused. But when his eyes meet mine, I see his vulnerability, his anxiety. I give him a warm smile, taking his hand in mine. "We're fine," I reply, answering Johanna's question and reassuring Peeta simultaneously. "There's nothing we can't handle together."

"Oh, please," Johanna shudders. "None of that 'love conquers all' stuff. Makes me nauseous."

But Peeta and I don't listen. I gaze into his eyes, smiling. Peeta returns my gaze, his blue orbs seeming to sparkle with a secret. I can't help the giggle that escapes me, especially when Peeta's lips twist into a know-it-all smirk that I've missed dearly.

But apparently, Johanna doesn't have time for our staring contest.

"Seriously guys, you're gonna make me puke."

Both Peeta and I laugh. And for the first time since his return, the mirth that escapes Peeta is completely genuine. I close my eyes, leaning into his chest as his arm wraps around my waist. I can't imagine my smile disappearing anytime soon. Peeta is finally healing. He's finally come back to me.

"Come on, stop with the googly eyes. It's repulsive. I'm repulsed."

Still smiling, Peeta and I quickly devise a plan to sneak Johanna out of the hospital. It proceeds flawlessly. In fact, it was ridiculously—hilariously—easy. It was simple enough for me to distract the lobby with faux labor pains, while Peeta and Johanna slipped out unnoticed during the flurry of commotion. Although, for a moment, when Dr. Riley hurried to my side with a determined expression that quickly turned to exasperation and suspicion when she looked me over, I thought that maybe our goose was cooked.

But Dr. Riley continues to surprise me. "Well, false alarm," she says airily. "Happens all the time."

Her announcement causes all the nurses who had hastily assembled by my side to disband and resume their own business. This is when Dr. Riley leaned forward, her stern hazel eyes piercing me with a firm look. "Have her back in two hours," she told me. "And I won't say a word."

Nothing slips by this woman.

I give her my best smile, reassuring her that it would be done, and ease myself off the examination table. As quickly as possible, I make my way down to the cafeteria—though I have to make a small detour to drop off Maya with Lieutenant Caine—and easily spot Peeta and Johanna sitting at our usual table. I grab a tray of food and then take a seat on the other side of Peeta.

And that's when I notice just who all is sitting at the table.

Everyone apparently decided to have a lunch date. My entire prep team, Hazelle and the kids, Finnick and Annie, Rye, Gale, Haymitch . . . _everyone_. And it seems as though everyone has something to say.

My prep team is excited to see Peeta and yet bemoaning his lost muscle mass. Finnick and Annie are wrapped in their own little blissful bubble that no one at the table as the heart to pop. Hazelle tells me that I look like I'm about to burst, and that the baby should be coming any day now. Posy innocently asks how the baby got into my stomach in the first place, sparking an outrageous explanation from Rye about a stork. Prim greets Peeta, Johanna, and I with a smile before returning her head to Haymitch's shoulder, closing her eyes. She's the only one who could get away with that in public. My mother greets me quietly, and I force my reply to be civil. Haymitch and Gale are the only two who do not speak immediately.

Haymitch and Peeta lock eyes very briefly, and Peeta nods his head just slightly. I resist the urge to punch both of them. Stupid conspiracy that I can't be a part of yet . . .

Gale, however, does not even make eye contact with anyone. He focuses entirely on his plate in front of him, stabbing his fish with more force than necessary. I sigh sadly, wondering how this could have happened, how I lost my best friend. It's all Coin's fault. She's fed his hatred for the Capitol, so much that it's caused him to forget his morals. He doesn't see it, but he's become the very type of person that he claims to hate.

As if sensing my silent condemnation, Gale's steel grey eyes meet mine. There's a tense staring contest between us for a moment before he abruptly stands up and stalks away. Peeta's eyes follow him warily, and I place my hand on his knee, hoping to relax him. After a few seconds, Peeta simply takes a deep breath and returns to the conversation currently taking place.

Rye is apparently planning his next prank and is asking for ideas.

"Come on, it's needs to be brilliant," he urges us. "Something that they'll remember me by forever."

"You're asking for a prank of historical proportions," Peeta says dryly. "Aim a little lower, brother."

"What? I can do it," Rye retorts with a mischievous grin. "You know not to challenge me. I can't resist."

"I don't think you can top reprogramming everyone's schedules," I tell him honestly. "I think that's how you left your mark in District 13's history. How'd you even do that anyway?"

Rye raises his chin proudly. "I'm much smarter than I look."

"Not that hard to be," Peeta mutters under his breath and I clamp my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.

Suddenly, Finnick enters the conversation, wearing a grin almost too big for his face. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have an announcement."

"Well, let's have it," Johanna says sharply after a moment of silence. "The anticipation is killing me."

Finnick merely smiles wider, glancing at Annie for a moment before declaring, "Annie and I are getting married!"

Our cheers and congratulations are instantaneous. Even Haymitch has a light in his eye at the news. Peeta's smiling softly, locking eyes with me for a moment and we share a knowing glance. Wordlessly, he pulls me to his side, keeping his arm draped around my shoulders. I lean against him happily, my cheeks beginning to hurt from my constant grinning.

After the congratulatory remarks die down, Finnick says to Peeta, almost as an afterthought, "Oh, and Peeta. You get to make the cake."

Peeta raises his eyebrows. "It's been a while since I made a cake."

"Rye can help."

"I can what?"

Finnick rolls his eyes. "Come on, Peet! You're my best man!"

"I am?"

"He is?"

"What is with the twenty questions?" Finnick asks with a smile at Rye before looking at Peeta. "And yeah, you're my best man. Who else would I choose?"

Peeta's eyes fill with warmth. "Thanks, Finnick. Sure. I'll make the cake."

"Great! The wedding is tomorrow!"

* * *

**Well, I think it's safe to say that this chapter is considerably lighter than the previous! There was actually fluff. FLUFF. What is this strange, foreign concept?**

**Well, Finnick does in fact exist! And he's getting married! Guess we know what occurs next chapter, huh? ;)**

**Oh, and we've learned where Johanna's been all this time. I've been getting some questions about her whereabouts and so know you know. And, don't you just love her? She called Katniss "Preggers." Gotta love it.**

**And so I guess the summary for this chapter is: Katniss and Peeta, after a good cry, have come together once more; Katniss attacked Peeta in the most wonderful way; Peeta is very conflicted about one decision: Kirk or Picard?; Haymitch is heaving a big sigh of relief because weddings promise alcohol; Johanna is still badass and is currently in talks with SNL; Prim needs a nap; and Why is Mrs. Everdeen still in this story?**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Rye!  
**

**"Let's go, Baby Momma!"**

**Hmm . . . perhaps someone will crash the wedding? ;)**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	21. Faithfully

**A/N: The time has come! I'm pretty sure all of you will love this chapter. :)**

**And so without further ado...**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Me: BABY!**

******************************************Rye: BABY!**

******************************************Peeta: Oh, baby.**

******************************************Katniss: Peeta, this is all _your_ fault!**

* * *

Chapter 21: Faithfully

_And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair_

_Two strangers learn to fall in love again_

_I get the joy of rediscovering you_

_Oh, girl, you stand by me_

_I'm forever yours_

_Faithfully_

* * *

After seeing that Finnick was serious about having the wedding the next day, Peeta threw himself into baking them the perfect cake. He sequestered himself in the kitchens where he and Greasy Sae, with unwilling help from Rye, created a masterpiece—or so Rye tells me. If Peeta's appearance when he finally returned to the compartment later that night is anything to by—completely covered in various colors of frosting— I'm almost nervous to see what Rye defines as a 'masterpiece.'

For all I know, Rye somehow rigged the cake to explode.

While Peeta and Rye were busy with the cake, I took care of Finnick and Annie. We all wanted it to be as normal a wedding as possible, and so I had one or two conversations with Plutarch Heavensbee about how to throw a proper District 4 wedding. In case you're wondering, I totally won that argument. Pregnancy has enhanced the ferocity of my glare.

So, after haggling over a few things with Plutarch, I finally got him to agree that we shouldn't make a spectacle of Finnick and Annie's wedding. He was all for televising it and broadcasting it throughout all Panem. Well, that just didn't fly with me and I told him so in a few choice words. Eventually, we agreed to make it all about Finnick and Annie. Crazy how much sense that makes, right? After all, it's _their_ wedding.

Everything seemed to be going well until I found Annie crying. She was holding a tattered, sewn dress in her hands. After some gentle prodding, Annie revealed why she was upset.

"It's the only thing I have," she explained. "Other than the uniform."

"Annie, Finnick won't care what you're wearing," I tried to soothe her. "I was wearing sweatpants when I got married."

Annie still didn't look convinced. "Peeta didn't care?"

"I don't even think he noticed," I replied with a smile. "Trust me. Finnick loves you. When you walk down that aisle, all he'll see is _you_. You're far more than what you wear. And that entire time he's staring into your eyes, he'll be thinking how lucky he is to have you and how he can't imagine how he ever lived a day without you." I paused before adding with a giggle, "And then he'll be hoping that Peeta remembered the ring."

Annie finally laughed, seeming to be reassured. And for all of ten minutes after leaving her, I felt good about everything . . . but then I remembered the longing on Annie's face as she'd held her battered dress in her hands. The image bothered me so much that I swallowed my pride and went to Plutarch for a favor. After some persuasion, I convinced him to take a hovercraft to District 12. I got Venia to go along for the ride, telling her what I wanted her to take from mine and Peeta's closet at home.

When she returned with a sea green dress I'd worn on the Victory Tour and the coordinating black suit Peeta had worn—complete with the matching green tie—I asked Venia to get Flavius and Octavia on board with the plan, to tailor the clothing to fit Annie and Finnick. My prep team was happy to participate, for once doing what they loved to do.

All the mess with Plutarch was worth it when I saw the expressions on Finnick and Annie's faces the morning of the wedding.

And now, as I stare up at the two of them standing at the altar, I can't help but smile. They look beautiful, and just how they should on their wedding day. Peeta stands off to the side near Finnick, wearing a small smile despite the tenseness in his shoulders. He doesn't like being unable to scan the room, and the large crowd isn't helping. Our eyes meet for a moment, and I try to send him a reassuring look. He relaxes just slightly, so I take it as a victory.

The ceremony is quaint, but perfect. District 4 has their own wedding traditions, involving the marrying couple to be draped with a fishing net and touching each other's lips with salt water. I guess for the fishing district it makes sense, although I'm still a big fan of District 12's toasting. Especially mine and Peeta's. I close my eyes for a moment, and almost feel the subtle warmth of the flames that were flickering in the fireplace.

I open my eyes just in time to see Finnick kiss his bride. On cue, all of us stand, applauding and cheering. Most of District 13 is attending the wedding, one of the compromises I had to make with Plutarch, but Finnick and Annie don't seem to mind. They are oblivious to anyone other than each other.

We easily transition to the reception. Now, we in District 12 may be poor coal miners, but we know how to have a good time. An old man that I always passed in the Hob, who could carve some of the best arrowheads, managed to escape with his fiddle. He began to play a happy, lively tune that automatically brought smiles to everyone's faces. Soon, the modest dance floor was filled with twirling couples and alive with laughter.

Being thirty-eight weeks pregnant prevents me from even thinking about dancing, but I don't mind. I enjoy the view of the festivities from one of the cloth-covered tables. Haymtich sits beside me, mumbling to himself about the abhorrent lack of alcohol. Apparently, it's a must at a wedding. But out of the corner of my eye, I still catch him tapping his foot to the beat of the music.

My eyes scan the crowd, noting the happy faces. More and more people from 13 are beginning to loosen up. Really, it's hard to fight the lightness of the atmosphere. It's fun to watch them struggle their way through the dances; but, eventually, they find themselves laughing at their missteps and simply trying again with a self-deprecating smile.

Prim is dancing happily with Rory, and I raise my eyebrows in slight surprise. That's a development I didn't know about. I'll have to corner her later and demand answers . . . or maybe I should go after Rory? He might be the first to talk under the withering heat of my glare.

"Easy, or they'll turn to dust where they stand," Peeta says with a slight smile as he takes the seat beside me, throwing his arm across the back of my chair. "They're just kids."

My eyes narrow. "He better not hurt her," I say, my eyes not leaving the young couple.

"She's happy." Peeta squeezes my shoulder. "Let her be."

I sigh in agreement as I watch Prim throw her head back and laugh at something Rory said. Oh, they're smitten, alright. But maybe Peeta's right. They should have fun.

"And don't worry about Rory," Peeta continues after a moment. "If he hurts her, he's dead."

I glance up at Peeta, unable to tell if he's serious or not. Nonetheless, I pat his knee. "If we have a girl, she'll never marry," I tease.

"Not a chance."

"You'll be a good father," I say softly, resting a hand on his chest, directly over his heart. "You really will."

Peeta smiles tentatively. "Let's hope so."

We sit in silence—me, Peeta, and Haymitch. It's almost like the old days, when it was just the three of us. When we were preparing for our first Games. Or the Victory Tour. It was just the three of us. And then Rye weaseled his way in. We met Johanna and Finnick. Then Annie. Our dysfunctional family has more than doubled in a mere six months.

And, any day now, our number will grow by one.

I rest my hand on my stomach, rubbing it absently. I've been having those fake contractions Dr. Riley warned me about all day. They are painful, but nothing I can't handle with a few deep breaths. They always go away, usually. But these today . . . these aren't going away.

I school my features when another fake contraction hits. This one is painful—easily eclipsing the pain of my previous contraction. It's difficult to keep from wincing and curling in on myself, but I manage. I don't realize how tense I've become until the pain recedes, and I slump back into the chair.

That's when I notice both Haymitch and Peeta staring at me. "You alright there, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks warily, but obviously concerned.

I take note of Peeta's worried face as well. Maybe my acting skills aren't as good as I thought. "I'm fine," I tell them both. "Just some fake contractions. Doctor Riley warned me about them. I've been having them for a while. Don't worry."

Haymitch relaxes just slightly, but Peeta isn't appeased. "You're sure?" he asks. "I'm sure Dr. Riley's here somewhere."

"I'm fine," I repeat. "Really. It's no big deal. You know what? Let's dance."

"Katniss—"

But I've already managed to haul myself to my feet. Peeta, reluctantly, follows me. We stay on the edge of the dance floor, turning in small circles as a slow song plays. After a few minutes, Peeta begins to relax and I smile, resting my head against his chest. I close my eyes, listening to the music and the steady beat of his heart. Peeta leans down, kissing the top of my head. Everything is perfect.

And then a gush of liquid runs down the inside of my leg.

Oh, god.

I pause midstep, frozen, and Peeta nearly steps on my toes. "Katniss, what's wrong?"

"Peeta." I've never heard my voice sound so small and scared. My heart is pounding in my chest as I realize what's happening. I feel slightly lightheaded, and yet at the same time my mind has never been clearer. Oh, god.

"Katniss!" Peeta steps away from me, holding me by my shoulders. His eyes are panicky and yet hard and determined. He thinks there's a threat. He wants to protect me. That's nice. "What's wrong? What is it?"

"Go get Dr. Riley," I tell him in a shaky voice. "Now."

I watch as the light bulb goes off in Peeta's eyes, and suddenly he looks just as terrified as I am. "Baby?" he whispers.

"Baby," I confirm. "I need Dr. Riley. Find—" I suck in a sharp breath as another contraction hits; strong, painful, and demanding. "_Peeta_," I plead with a wince. "Find her."

"Hey, guys!" Rye approaches us with a drink in his hand and a big smile. "Enjoying the party?"

"Rye, take Katniss up to the hospital," Peeta commands. His voice is sharp and demanding, having obviously shoved his fears and anxiety to the back of his mind in order to take control of the situation. "Her water just broke."

"Baby?" Rye questions gleefully. "Awesome! Let's go, Baby Momma," he says jovially and just like that takes my arm and begins to lead me to the elevators. "I'm gonna be an uncle! Finally!"

My mind is hardly paying attention to the words spilling from Rye's mouth. My jaw is clenched tight as I fight the pain of yet another contraction. They're coming too quick. Quicker than they should be. God, how could I be so oblivious? The fake contractions I have been experiencing throughout the day were obviously _very_ real. I've already been in labor for hours. Since sometime this morning.

Oh, god.

I hardly notice when Rye guides me off the elevator, still talking a mile a minute about nonsense.

"Katniss!"

I know that voice. Nobody else sounds so chipper. "Alice," I say with my best attempt at a smile. "It's time."

"Oh, yay!" Alice squeals, clapping her hands. "Come on! I'll get you settled until Dr. Riley comes. This is so exciting! You're having a baby!"

"Tell me something I don't know."

By the time I'm in a birthing room dressed in a flimsy gown and sweating like mad, Dr. Riley enters the room, Peeta trailing along after her. Immediately, he's at my side and takes my hand. My grip threatens to break his fingers, but he doesn't say a word. Wise of him.

This is all his fault anyway.

"Katniss, you're in labor," Dr. Riley states obviously. "Mind if I take a look?"

At this point, she could strip me naked and I wouldn't give a damn.

"Oh, this is going to be a quick one," Dr. Riley says after examining me. She meets my eyes. "You've been in labor for hours, sweetie. Why didn't you say something?"

"I thought the contractions were fake!" I explain. "And my water hadn't broken. I thought I was fine!"

"Hours?" Peeta latches on to that part of Dr. Riley's statement. He stares at me with narrowed eyes. "You didn't say anything."

"I didn't want to worry you."

"You should have told me."

"You would have freaked out and been anxious all day," I defend. "This day is supposed to be all about Finnick and Annie. Not me."

"Well, honey, your kid decided otherwise," Dr. Riley says with a small smirk. "So lay back and try to get comfortable. We're going to be here for a while."

"I thought you said it was going to be a quick one!"

"Katniss, when it comes to labor, 'quick' can be twelve hours. Why, the longest labor I can remember lasted a whole thirty-six hours."

All the blood drains from my face. Thirty-six hours. That's more than a day. It's a day and a half. A day and a half of _this_?

Oh, god.

And so the hours began to pass. Dr. Riley will come in every now and then to see if I am ready to push, but other than that it is just me and Peeta in the room. Dr. Riley tells us who is in the waiting room during one of her check-ins: Haymitch, Rye, Prim, Finnick and Annie, Johanna, Hazelle and the kids, even my mother and Gale.

I really hoped they were comfortable. Because I sure as hell wasn't.

After a particularly harsh contraction, I glare at Peeta, "I hate you so much right now."

"Sorry."

"Do not apologize!"

I know that I am being ridiculous. I realize that it isn't _entirely_ his fault that I am currently in so much pain, but I'm scared. And, the most terrifying part of it all is that I know the worst still to come. How am I going to do this?

And poor Peeta. He takes every single one of my vicious insults and blistering curses in stride. He simply nods his head in agreement, saying, "I know." He says this knowing that I will just yell at him some more. He is in a no-win situation, but he doesn't seem to mind.

I love him so much. And I hate him, but I figure that feeling will pass once the baby is here.

Once the baby is here.

"We're finally going to have a baby," I say. We are simply sitting in silence as we wait for the next contraction to hit. "It's really happening, Peeta."

"I know," he replies quietly. "I just wish it could be easier for you."

I smile slightly. "Don't worry about me. I've got this."

I speak confidently, hoping that Peeta will take some comfort from my words, but he simply stares at me knowingly. I can't hide anything from him. "Peeta," I whisper as I draw in a shaky breath. "I'm scared."

"Me too," he replies with a slight smile.

I shake my head. "You don't look scared."

"I've learned to hide it. The Capitol dungeon isn't a place to show fear. It only makes it worse." He smiles sadly. "Truth is, I'm terrified. I'm going to be a father, and I don't think I'm ready."

I squeeze his hand. "I don't think anyone is ever quite ready to be a parent," I say honestly. "But we'll give it our best shot. Besides," I laugh tiredly. "We have Haymitch."

A small chuckle escapes Peeta. "How does that help us, again? Might as well add Rye to the list."

"And Prim."

"Finnick and Jo."

"Don't forget Annie—"

Whatever else I would have said is lost in the pain of another contraction. I don't know how much longer I can do this. I close my eyes and clench my jaw. Vaguely, I hear Peeta whispering reassurances to me, and I try to focus on his voice instead of the pain clawing my stomach. When it finally passes, Dr. Riley comes in yet again.

"Tell me I can push," I demand as she walks into the room.

"You can push," she replies firmly, and I feel my heart speed up.

"Really?"

"Push."

And so the worst pain I've ever felt begins. It is like nothing I've ever experienced. I swear I am being slowly ripped in two. I forget all pretenses of pride. I scream and cry. Peeta sits there willingly as I slowly break his hand with my iron grasp, not uttering a sound of complaint.

I don't know how much time passes. I only know that it is too much time. I want the baby to be here. I want the pain to be gone. I want something to show for my efforts. I am so tired. So, incredibly tired.

"You can do this, Katniss," Peeta whispers to me. "Come on, beautiful, just one more. For me."

So in one final feat of strength, I bear down with all the power I have left. And as I collapse back onto the bed, I am rewarded with a shrill cry. At the sound, I smile wildly and close my eyes, feeling the greatest sense of triumph. When I open my eyes a second later, Peeta is staring at me with a smile that mirrors my own.

"Well, the mystery is about to come to an end," Dr. Riley says as she cradles a pink, slightly bloody infant in her arms. Peeta and I both sit up just a little straighter, anxiously awaiting the answer to a question that's plagued us for nine months. Slowly, a small smile appears on her face as she says, "It's a girl."

A girl.

I have a little girl.

To my slight surprise, I am not disappointed at all. In fact, the strangest warmth spreads throughout my entire body at the news. I have a little girl. My little baby girl. I force my weak arms to rise, wordlessly asking for my little treasure. Gently, Dr. Riley places her in my arms, and I see my daughter's face for the first time.

There aren't words to describe the depth of the love that immediately warms my heart when I look at her. I will do anything for my little girl. I will die for her. I will kill for her. There are no limits. No conditions. I love this child more than life itself. I love her more than anything or anyone. More than Peeta. More than myself. This little girl in my arms is everything.

I greedily take in her features. Immediately obvious is her tuft of dark hair, the exact color as my own. Her eyes remain tightly shut, keeping their color hidden. Her little face mirrors Peeta's so completely that no one could ever doubt who her father is. I see very little of myself in her features, except for the fact that she inherited my nose. I don't mind. She is beautiful. And she is mine.

Ours.

I finally tear my eyes away from my daughter's face, looking up at her father. "Look what we did, Peeta," I say softly. "Look at her."

"She's perfect," he whispers, his blue eyes filled with tears that have yet to spill. He gently wipes away the tears from my cheeks that have been silently falling. We hold each other's gaze for a moment, and for the first time since his return, I see the emotion I've been longing to see reflected in his eyes. Shining pure and bright is passionate, all-consuming love. And, finally, he says the words that I've dreamed of hearing for months. "I love you."

I sob happily. "I love you, too," I tell him through my tears. "Now, kiss me already!"

The kiss tastes salty from our mutual tears, but I hardly give it a thought as our lips move together. My heart feels as though it's going to burst from the amount of love that's filling it. I've never been happier.

"Sorry, to interrupt," Rosalie cuts in softly. "But I need to take her for just a minute. Run a few tests and get her wrapped in a nice blanket. I know you don't want to leave her. Believe me I know how you feel. I'll make it quick, I promise."

Reluctantly, I allow her to take my little girl from my arms. My heart aches as her cries fade away as Rosalie takes her out of the room. Peeta is glaring at the closed door as though it wronged him in the most monstrous way, and I know that he's two seconds away from going after Rosalie. And while I honestly have no qualms with that idea, logic tells me that it would only prolong the time away from our little girl.

So, to distract him, I ask, "So what's her name?"

My question does the trick. "What?"

"Her name, Peeta," I repeat. "Our daughter came into the world nameless. We need to fix that."

"You pick," he says. "You're the one who did all the work."

"But you were the one who wanted a girl," I argue before quickly adding, "Not that I'm disappointed it's a girl. Just goes to show my instincts aren't always right, huh?" I smile wryly. "Come on, Peeta. I know you. You've thought of a name."

Peeta smiles, looking sheepish and nervous. His eyes drop to study my hand, his fingers gently teasing my own. There's a moment of silence before he finally reveals his thoughts. "Lilly." His eyes hesitantly meet mine once more. "Lilly Hope."

"Lilly Hope Mellark," I say, testing the name aloud. Slowly, I begin to smile. It just sounds right. "It has a nice ring to it."

"You like it?"

"I love it."

The door opens then, and it's Rosalie, carrying a pink bundle in her arms. "Told you so," she says with a small smile. "Back in no time." She stops at Peeta. "Do you want to hold your daughter?"

Peeta glances from Rosalie to me, almost like he's asking my permission. "Go on," I encourage.

So, with great care, Peeta takes his daughter into his arms for the first time. I hardly notice Rosalie quietly ease out of the room. I'm too focused on watching the play of emotion on Peeta's face. I wonder if my face looked like that when I was holding her. A look of pure adoration and love. I watch as a fierce protective look enters Peeta eyes, mingling with the love that's shining brightly. The sheer ferocity of his gaze is mindboggling. There is nothing that Peeta wouldn't do for our little girl. Absolutely nothing.

I fear for anyone who ever tries to harm her, because I have no doubt that Peeta will kill them.

"Hi, Lilly," he whispers, his lips curving into a smile. "Welcome to the world."

After a moment, Peeta hands Lilly over to me. I want to protest. He should hold his daughter for longer than a few minutes, but the moment she's lying safely in my arms my protest dies in my throat. I stare at her sweet, little face. I could stare at her for hours. Days. I watch intently as her little chest rises and falls. Suddenly, her eyes flicker open.

I gasp, more tears sliding down my cheeks. I glance up at Peeta, who is smiling just as I am. "I know those eyes," I say softly as Peeta kisses my forehead.

Lilly has her father's eyes. Beautifully clear and brilliantly blue.

For the next half hour, Peeta and I simply sit in silence, sharing occasional kisses and whispered words of love. However, the majority of my attention is focused on my little girl. _Lilly_. I really love that name. It is fresh, like spring. It reminds me of a beginning. A new beginning.

Peeta hovers over the both of us, every inch the protective husband and father. Something tells me that his overprotectiveness will grow to unexplored, previously unknown heights. I don't mind. It reassures me.

Eventually, Dr. Riley pokes her head in. "Sorry to disturb you, but you two have a quite a few people waiting to be introduced. I'll happily send them all away if you want. They're trashing my waiting room."

Peeta merely glances at me. "It's up to you."

Although I want to keep her all to myself, at the same time I want to play the proud mother and show off her perfection. So I say, "Let them in."

"One at a time," Peeta adds. "Haymitch first."

Dr. Riley nods and within the next second, the door opens to reveal a disheveled Haymitch. He walks slowly into the room, his eyes never straying from the pink bundle in my arms. Once he's standing right by the bed, he peers over to look at—for all intents and purposes—his granddaughter.

"She's prettier than both of you," he says with a small, genuine smile. Almost in a trance, he gently traces her little cheek with his finger. "What's her name?"

"Lilly," I reply softly. "Lilly Hope Mellark."

"Pretty name," he replies. "No way you came up with it."

I laugh softly. "No. Peeta came up with it."

"No one is ever going to hurt her," Haymitch promises, a protective glint entering his eye. "Not as long as I'm around."

"No," I agree, looking between the two men on either side of me. "I trust you. Both of you."

Haymitch sighs as he looks at us. "Our clock is ticking."

Peeta nods. "We still have time. Coin won't try anything so soon. Especially since the war isn't won."

"But she'll put things into motion."

"We'll be ready."

He and Haymitch share a long look before our mentor nods. "Congratulations you two," he says. "I'll see you later."

However, before Haymitch leaves, he places a delicate kiss on Lilly's forehead.

Peeta and I are silent as he leaves, and the moment the door shuts, I turn to him. "We finally broke Haymitch," I say with a slight smile. "He's hopeless against her."

Peeta nods in amusement, though he quickly becomes serious. "He's right, though, Katniss," he says softly. "Coin will strike. You're in danger."

I close my eyes, realizing the truth in his words. "I know," I finally say. "But let's forget about that for now. Let's just focus on Lilly."

Peeta agrees, but I know that in the back of his mind, he's still thinking of defensive plans and most likely about whatever plans he's already shared with Haymitch. I know that they already have some form of a plan to kill Coin. They've told me as much. I'm just not privy to that information. Yet.

But with Lilly now in my arms, I'm filled with the urge to know as much as possible in order to protect her. Coin will try to kill me. Peeta, too. Once we're of no more use. I'm already vulnerable now, but I'll be especially vulnerable once I've healed. Then she can send me into a warzone. Then she can have me killed and blame it on something like, "friendly fire."

I shake my head. This is all about Lilly. No threats. No assassinations. Just Lilly. My little girl.

Slowly, one by one, everyone comes to visit us. Rye, upon seeing his niece, immediately exhales in relief and says, "Thank god. She looks like Peeta." Then he turns to Peeta and gives him a high-five. "Way to go, little brother. The next one can be a boy!"

Peeta and I merely share a look at that comment, easily conveying our thoughts on the matter. _Not for a very long time_.

Prim simply adores Lilly. Instantly, she is cooing and gushing over her niece. Finnick and Annie come in together, both of them offering their congratulations. Then, Finnick declares that they have to leave, insinuating not-so-subtly that he plans on making a baby of his own. Johanna only visits for a minute or so, but there is something in her eyes when she looks at Lilly. Something soft and gentle that you wouldn't necessarily expect from Johanna Mason. It makes me smile.

The last person to visit is Gale.

"Mom and the kids left a few hours ago," he says by way of greeting. "It was getting late. They'll be by tomorrow morning."

"Okay."

It's very tense in the room. Peeta is hovering over us protectively, openly regarding Gale with suspicion. It doesn't seem to faze Gale, though he is slightly more cautious than the situation calls for. Slowly, he walks further into the room until he can see Lilly. He stares at her for a moment, his face expressionless.

"Looks like her dad," he finally says, glancing at Peeta.

"Yeah," I agree. "But you never know. As she grows she might resemble me more."

"Hmm," Gale agrees wordlessly and we all fall into another tense silence. Finally, he looks at me and says, "I hope you're happy."

"I am," I reply softly, and Gale nods.

"Guess that's all that matters then," he replies, before shooting Lilly and I one last look and walking out the door.

"Well, that was exciting," Peeta says after a moment.

I frown. "You don't trust him."

"You don't either. Not completely. Not anymore."

I hate that I can't argue. I sigh before taking a deep breath, closing my eyes. It takes me longer than it should to open my eyes once more. Peeta notices. "Sleep," he commands gently. "You deserve it."

My eyes dart down to Lilly, who's resting peacefully in my arms. I don't want to close my eyes. I have to make sure she's still with me. "I'll watch her," Peeta assures me. "I promise."

Reluctantly, I allow Peeta to take Lilly from me. Immediately, I miss her warmth against my chest. "Don't let me sleep too long," I tell him.

"Go to sleep, Katniss."

Despite my determination to stay awake, sleep ultimately claims me. My dreams are full of Lilly and her sweet smelling perfume. Of matching blue eyes between father and daughter. Peeta saying, "I love you." His emotions, in all their facets and strengths, finally revealing themselves fully and without pain. But, eventually, my desire to see the two people I love most causes me to wake.

I don't know how much time has passed, but it's been long enough for me to feel the soreness in my body. I push the discomfort from my mind. Suddenly, I'm aware of the soft shuffle of footsteps. Before I can open my eyes, I hear Peeta say softly. "She's sleeping."

Curious, I continue to feign sleep.

"I just wanted to see her."

It's my mother. So she decided to visit after all. I'd wondered if she would come.

"She's beautiful," I hear her say, something like longing in her voice. "I remember when Katniss was that small."

"It must be weird," Peeta says. "Seeing your child have a child of her own."

"Yes," my mother agrees, before adding quietly, "And she's too young."

I don't need to open my eyes in order to see the expression on Peeta's face at her words. I can see his reaction clearly in my mind. Eyes narrowed. Lips pressed together to keep a sharp retort from leaving his lips. His shoulders tense.

"She can handle anything," Peeta finally says after a moment. "This may be the first child of her own, but Lilly isn't the only child she's raised."

It's the first time Peeta has ever showed any disrespect to my mother. And for him deal a low blow so quickly . . .

There's a tense silence. I know my mother won't defend herself. She never does. And so I'm not surprised when she avoids his accusation and retorts with a barb of her own. "Yes, but the baby isn't going to be the only person she's taking care of."

"I can take care of myself just fine," Peeta replies coldly.

"You're still suffering from the trauma of your capture."

"No, really? I hadn't noticed."

"If you're not going to take your condition seriously . . ."

"Look, I know I've got problems," Peeta interrupts angrily. "I know that better than anyone. I know that I'm still messed up, but I'm getting better. I will continue to get better. For myself, for Katniss, and for Lilly. So don't you dare delude yourself into thinking you have the right to pander to me about not being fit to be a parent. Because out of the two of us, I'm already doing better than you."

I want so badly to open my eyes and scream at my mother. What right does she think she has to say these things? A part of me realizes it's her attempt at mothering, yet again. But if her idea of trying to protect me is pissing Peeta off, then she really hasn't thought things through.

My mother doesn't respond immediately. Finally, after a tense few moments, she says, "Congratulations."

And then I hear the door shut quietly behind her. Just when I'm about to open my eyes, Peeta begins talking again. His voice has lost all its previous anger and disdain. Instead, his voice is velvety soft as he croons to Lilly.

"Don't worry, sunshine," he whispers. "Daddy's not better yet, but he will be. You're the reason all of this is worth it. I'm going to be everything you need me to be. I promise."

I don't have the heart to open my eyes and intrude on the private moment. So I keep my eyes closed, eventually drifting off to sleep once more, all the while thinking that everything is going to be alright.

Because Peeta never breaks his promises.

* * *

**Okay, now everybody go, "AWWWWWWW"**

**Peeta wears his daddypants well, don't you think? I'm so happy to finally post this chapter! The baby has arrived! A lot of you seemed split on whether you wanted a boy or a girl, but I've had it in my head since the beginning that I was going to give them a girl. That way Peeta can be extra adorable. Lilly's going to be a daddy's girl. Definitely.**

**Summary time; Peeta and Katniss have now entered the season finale of Teen Mom; Mrs. Everdeen got OWNED; Prim is adorable; Finnick and Annie are working on the babymaker; Johanna has a soft side (gasp!); Haymitch has met his match; Rye is already plotting for a nephew; and Lilly has arrived!**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Peeta!  
**

**"Are you checking me out?"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	22. Eye of the Tiger

**A/N: Once again, can I say that you guys are awesome?**

**The response to the last chapter was everything that I hoped it would be. Honestly, the thing I was most worried about was the baby's name! So, on that note, I'm glad everyone seems to like the name Lilly. *sighs in relief***

**Also, note the song title! The first (and only) upbeat song in the entire story! Just think Peeta . . . plus some serious Rocky-style training . . . badassness is coming people . . . oh, yes it is . . .**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Me: *sighs in contentment as she watches Peeta* He's so pretty . . .**

******************************************Katniss: *nods in agreement* Yeah . . .**

******************************************Me: *dreamily* Peeta . . .**

******************************************Katniss: Hey, stop ogling my man!**

******************************************Peeta: Is there a problem?**

******************************************Me: Yes. You're sexy.**

******************************************Peeta: And I know it.**

* * *

Chapter 22: Eye of the Tiger

_Risin' up, back on the street_

_Did my time, took my chances_

_Went the distance now I'm back on my feet_

_Just a man and his will to survive_

_It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight_

_Risin' up to the challenge of our rivals_

_And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night_

_And he's watchin' us all with the eye of the tiger_

* * *

The following weeks are some of the happiest of my life. Peeta and I are in complete baby bliss. Nothing can bring us down. Even the fact that Lilly wakes up crying twice a night and sometimes takes hours to soothe does not bother us (much). I will sing to her, crooning each note as I rock her gently in my arms. Peeta will simply talk to her. Lilly likes his voice and always seems perfectly content when held in his arms. I understood. Peeta's arms are a very safe place to be.

They are very attached to each other, Peeta and Lilly. She seems to be the balm needed to heal all his wounds, even the ones that no one could see. I've never seen him so relaxed, so perfectly content, until he held Lilly in his arms.

The three of us are always together. Peeta hates to leave "his girls" for even a moment. I can't stand to have Lilly out of my sight for even a second. We are always together. And I soak up every single glorious moment. This is the family that I had always (secretly) wanted. That I had needed.

Haymitch spends more time with us than ever before. Lilly had him wrapped around her finger from day one and that attachment has only grown as the days stretched to weeks. It's extremely humorous and somewhat terrifying to see Haymitch cradle Lilly in his arms and coo to her. It's worse when he makes baby noises.

Peeta and I wonder if the lack of alcohol has finally driven him insane.

Finnick and Annie come by often as well. Finnick seems incredibly intrigued with the concept of an infant, constantly asking questions from everything to her sleeping habits—"Does she really wake up screaming twice a night?—to her eating habits—"Wow, that must be awkward"—to her diaper changes—"That is disgusting."

Johanna comes by when she can. Although she still sees her therapist and the doctors worry about her relapsing, District 13 still immediately recruited her into their army. Johanna doesn't mind. In fact, I think it's good for her. She finally has a way to direct her anger.

Prim comes by when she's not working, at least once a day, just to check in and see how things are going. She adores Lilly, and found a poor misplaced teddy bear just for her niece.

Rye is perhaps the funniest around Lilly. He's completely entranced. Everything she does, even blinking, is a momentous occasion. He begs for Peeta and I to go on a date so he can babysit and have her all to himself. Naturally, when he suggests this—which is at least once a day—Peeta and I answer with a vehement, "No."

There are some things that just scream trouble. Rye babysitting is one of them. He needs just as much supervision as Lilly.

The only negative since we brought Lilly home is Command. They've been hounding us to see her. They want to show her to Panem. As a propo. Like she was some prize.

Peeta's response to Plutarch doesn't even need repeating.

After they realized that Peeta and I would not cater to their whims when it came to Lilly, they tried recruiting Peeta again for propos and things. Naturally, Peeta said no. At the time I was nowhere near physically capable of anything that didn't involve taking care of my baby, and so they left me alone.

So, for the past few weeks, Command has let us be (reluctantly). But Haymitch has warned us that since it's nearly six weeks ago to the day that Lilly was born . . . medically I'm in the clear to go out into the field. And that's something that neither Peeta nor Haymitch in all their witty glory can possibly refute.

Slowly, for the past few days, the grey, ominous cloud of Command has been encroaching upon the bliss that Lilly's presence provides. Absently, I begin rocking back and forth as I hold my precious child in my arms. She's grown so much since her birth, though she's still tiny. I study her sweet little face with a small smile. Cute, chubby cheeks. Slightly parted pink lips. Eyes squeezed tight in sleep.

A wave of love washes through me, and I begin to sing softly.

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

_And when again they open, the sun will rise._

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you._

Lilly makes a cute little noise in response to my voice, but her eyes remain closed. I continue the song with a small smile.

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_

_A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray_

_Forget your woes and let your troubles lay_

_And when again it's morning, they'll wash away._

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daises guard you from every harm._

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you_

At the end of my song, Lilly finally opens her eyes. She grasps my finger with her tiny hand, holding on with all the strength she can muster. I know she doesn't yet realize the meaning of the song or the many stories behind it. She doesn't understand that the last time I sang that song, the child in my arms was dying. Sweet, sweet Rue. So brave . . .

Lilly stares up at me, a small smile gracing her face. My smile only widens in response. "Hi, Lilly," I coo. "I love you so much. More than you can possible imagine. Your daddy loves you, too. You're his little girl. And Grandpa Haymitch simply adores you. And Uncle Rye and Aunt Prim think you're amazing." Lilly stares sweetly up at me the entire time I speak, hardly blinking as she takes in my words. I know that she doesn't understand them yet. But she will know someday. "You are loved. Never, ever doubt it," I whisper as I kiss her forehead.

I glance at the clock resting on my nightstand, frowning when I note the time. It reads ten o'clock. Peeta should have been back an hour ago. "I wonder where your daddy is," I say to Lilly curiously. "Do you know?"

Lilly just smiles, and I laugh. "Of course you know."

Truthfully, I did have an idea as to Peeta's whereabouts. After all, he did make a promise to Lilly the day she was born, and every day since he has been working to make it true. Lilly's birth seems to have finally given him the push to throw himself completely into his recovery. Hoping to be of some help, I had finally shown him the sketchbooks and art supplies that I had taken from the house during our two trips to District 12. I felt guilty for holding on to them for so long, but they comforted me. It was selfish of me, I know. But Peeta, naturally, didn't say anything.

Instead, he took them with a small smile, thanked me, and then promptly began sketching. He started with the oldest sketchbook, the one whose pages were almost full. Peeta filled every remaining page with a picture of Lilly or of me. But the second sketchbook, the one that was completely blank, he didn't allow me to see. I never asked. I assumed his sketches were memories of his time in the Capitol. He didn't want me to see them, and quite honestly, I had no desire to lay eyes on them either.

But when Peeta isn't sketching or doting on Lilly, he is in the training center. I'd known that it bothered him that he wasn't as fit as he used to be, and in the past six weeks he's been doing everything in his power to rectify that. Dr. Riley even slipped him some protein pills that were supposed to help him gain back all the muscle he'd lost.

They certainly did the trick. Day by day, I watched as Peeta transformed his body into the muscled, cut form that I couldn't keep my hands off of. However, Peeta's maniacal work outs were not all that they seemed. No, I suspected there was a deeper reason. It wasn't about getting in shape again. It was literally getting back what he had lost, what the Capitol had took from him. Peeta was building himself back up in every way.

But Peeta is always back by nine o'clock. He will leave early, about five in the morning. I don't understand how he manages to force his body up that early, especially since we wake up at around midnight and three because of Lilly's cries. Peeta is probably on running on six hours of sleep. And that's if we manage to get Lilly back to sleep quickly.

I glance at the clock again, noting that fifteen more minutes have passed. I stare at the door next, almost as though I'm waiting for it to open and reveal Peeta because I wish it so. When nothing happens, I frown in disappointment.

"Your daddy must be having a bad day," I tell Lilly absently.

Five minutes of staring at the door later, I decide to go hunt him down. It's probably nothing, but I just want to make sure. I've been so paranoid lately. Coin's imminent threat is hovering forebodingly over our heads, and the few times I've seen her since Lilly's birth have not been very reassuring.

That woman can glare just as well as I can.

Quickly getting Lilly's things together, I step out into the hall. Not for the first time since her birth, I'm glad that Haymitch is only next door. I knock sharply on the door, and it opens immediately. His steely grey eyes instantly warm when they land on Lilly, and I can't resist a small smirk.

"Shut up," Haymitch mutters. "She's . . ."

"Perfect?"

"Innocent," he counters softly as he takes her into his arms. "It's a rare thing these days."

I follow him into the room, setting her things down on a small table in the corner. "Can you watch her for a while? I'm going to find Peeta."

I suppose it might seem odd to drop her off with Haymitch, especially since I probably won't be gone for more than ten minutes. Why not simply take her with me? Well, it's District 13. Everyone wants to see her, not just Command. Peeta and I don't like her being treated as a spectacle.

And I'll be the first to admit that we're just plain overprotective.

"Sure," Haymitch says, already beginning to sway in a soothing motion. "Kid not back yet?"

"No."

There must be some unease in my voice, because Haymitch meets my eyes warily. "Think there's a problem?"

"No," I admit, shaking my head. "I'm just . . . I just need to see him."

"Well, go then," Haymitch shrugs before turning his full attention to his granddaughter. "Me and Sunshine will be perfectly fine without you, won't we?"

Sunshine. That seems to be the most popular nickname for Lilly. Peeta started it that very first night, and once Haymitch heard it, he latched onto the idea immediately. I didn't mind. In fact, I thought the nickname quite proper. Lilly is a light. A warm, soothing light. Like sunshine.

"Don't cause too much trouble," I threaten before kissing Lilly's head. "Keep him in line, little girl."

"I resent that."

"I don't care."

And then I'm out the door, heading to the training center, knowing that Lilly is in safe hands. The training center itself is split into two locations. The first one, of course, is outside. Since the bombing, it's been cleaned up and is once again officially in use by the District 13 soldiers. However, the second part of the training center is the floor right above Special Defense. It reminds me of the training center in the Capitol, with different stations focusing on different aspects of fitness or prowess.

As the doors open to the training center, I step off the elevator and quickly scan the spacious room. Peeta is easy to spot, but maybe that's just me. Of course, I know for sure that it's him because Maya is lying down a few feet away, watching him as he pummels a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.

Ignoring the curious, slightly suspicious looks from the soldiers I pass, I head straight for Peeta. Maya is the first one to notice my presence, lifting her head and then smiling at me with her tongue lolling out. I merely shake my head. She's so goofy.

You might be wondering how Maya and Lilly get along. The first time we introduced them, Lilly was asleep. Maya simply edged toward the bed, curious. Then she sniffed, poked Lilly with her nose, and then plopped down at the foot of the bed like she was nothing special. Of course, we learned the next hour—when Dr. Riley came into the room and approached the bed—that Maya had taken a liking to the newest addition to the family. Frankly, I'd never heard a growl sound so menacing.

I lazily allow my fingers to tangle in her fur as she leans against my leg. Peeta has yet to acknowledge my presence. His entire focus is on the punching bag in front of him, which swings slightly with every powerful hit. I can't control the way my gaze slowly rakes over his sweaty, glistening form. His blonde curls lay heavily due to sweat, some of them plastered to his forehead while others hang in his eyes. One of the many results of his exertion, his t-shirt hugs his sweaty torso, revealing the defined muscles that I've sorely missed. Vaguely, I wonder if I'm drooling.

But, hey, what can I do? My husband is a very sexy man.

"Are you checking me out?"

Peeta's voice causes me to snap out of my thoughts, and I realize that he's stopped assaulting the punching bag. A mischievous smirk twists his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest. He raises his eyebrows, as if saying, "Well?"

I scoff and roll my eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Mellark," I say airily. I make a point to run my eyes over his body, but keep my face indifferent. "I became immune to your . . . _charms_ . . . a long time ago."

"Really?" Peeta asks as he takes a predatory step toward me, his eyes narrowed, but alight with playfulness. I try to ignore the way my heart jumps in my chest and the way my skin feels as though it's on fire when he pulls me to him. "Then enlighten me," he says huskily, his face hardly an inch from mine. "What do I have to do to change that?"

A shaky breath escapes me as I gaze into his blue eyes that are shining with a fire that makes me lightheaded. I've seen this intense look many times before . . . but never in such a public setting. No, when he looks at me this way, it is usually dark. We are alone. The bed is warm. And I am in heaven.

I feel a smile twist my lips at the many memories flashing through my mind. "Nothing you haven't done before," I reply in a whisper.

And then I pull out of his embrace, leaving him wide-eyed and stunned. He stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before shaking his head as if to clear it. Then he pins me with a mock glare. "You're such a tease."

"You love it."

For the past few weeks, a delicious tension has been brewing between us; a tension that I remember all too well. Last time, it ended with a day in the snow. I couldn't help but wonder when our second 'perfect moment' will occur. I know it will be soon.

And I'm equally excited and terrified, which is definitely a tumultuous blend of emotion.

I know that Peeta senses the electricity that seems to cackle between us. I know that he knows what will soon happen, too. But it's all up to him. He'll have to make the move. I'm not about to push him into anything.

Besides, my inner vixen loves to tease him mercilessly.

Peeta smiles at me and pulls me to him again, capturing my lips in a kiss that is borderline indecent in such a public setting. I shove him away from me playfully, "Peeta," I chastise. "People are staring."

"Let them," he returns boldly. "I love you. They can get over it."

I smile at his declaration. I'll never tire of hearing those words.

"Why are you here?" he asks suddenly. "Where's Lilly?"

"Lilly is with Haymitch," I reply. "And I'm here because you were gone later than usual. It's probably near eleven."

Peeta frowns. "Really?"

"Yeah." I smile sheepishly. "I was kind of worried."

Guilt colors Peeta's expression. "I'm sorry," he apologizes. He stares back at the punching bag. "I just got . . . caught up in things."

"Yeah, speaking of . . ." I trail off as I notice a second punching bag lying on the floor off to the side. A tear scars the middle of the cloth and sand has poured from the wound. I take note of the broken chain, and then realize the newness of the punching bag Peeta was pummeling. I put two and two together. "What did that poor punching bag do to you?"

Peeta's eyes darken slightly, and my attempt at humor fails spectacularly. I watch as anger flickers to life in his eyes, quickly becoming an all consuming flame. "Like I said . . . I got caught up in things."

"Peeta." I allow my fingers to trail lightly down his arm before twining with his own. I squeeze his hand pleadingly. "Tell me."

He sighs heavily, though his anger causes the breath to leave him in a huff. "I was just . . . remembering things . . . and people. I just got so angry. I wanted to hurt them like they hurt me. I wanted to kill them."

"So you killed the punching bag."

"Pretty much."

"Strangely, I think this is actually healthy," I admit. "You need to vent your anger. At least this way, only inanimate objects suffer."

"For now."

I don't comment immediately. I know what he's talking about, even if he's never come right out and said it. Although we've been avoiding Command, that doesn't mean we don't know what's going on with the war. All the Districts have fallen to the Rebels, with the exception of District 2. But, according to rumor, that would soon change. After 2, the only place left to fall was the Capitol itself.

And Peeta wants to be there. He wants his revenge.

I know that I won't stop him. What that conveys about my character, I'm not sure I want to know.

"How soon do you think it'll be?" I ask. "Before 2 falls?"

"Since I heard a couple guys talk about a propo airing tonight, I think it already has," Peeta replies seriously. "Coin will want to storm the Capitol as soon as she can get a team ready and trained. I say we have three weeks before the Rebels enter the Capitol."

Three weeks. Three weeks until it might all be over.

"What are we going to do?" I glance around us, making sure no one is in hearing range. "What about Coin? It's about time you told me your plan, Peeta."

His eyes narrow, but he nods. "I know. Soon. I promise."

"Tonight."

I give him my best glare to show him that I won't take "no" for an answer.

"Tonight," he agrees.

Tonight seems to come quicker than usual. After throwing a real fuss, Lilly slept soundly in her modest bassinet. From his position stretched out in a chair, Peeta absently rocks the bassinet with his foot, just to make sure that she will stay asleep. Haymitch and Rye are in our compartment as well. Rye lays back comfortably on the bed like it is his own, lacing his fingers behind his head. Haymitch wouldn't go near our bed because "who knew what horrors had taken place" and sits in a chair on the other side of Lilly's bassinet.

I sit at the foot of the bed with Maya lying at my feet. All of us are waiting for the propo to air. Suddenly, the television flickers on and I see my mockingjay pin aflame, burning brightly. Then, the screen dissolves to show a picture of District 2.

I gasp. District 2, or at least the section being shown, is nothing more than smoking ruins. People are running about with ashen, tear-streaked faces as they flee a crumbling section of the mountain. They place itself is called "The Nut" and is a very important stronghold in District 2. It housed the heart of the Capitol's military. After the Dark Days, the Capitol was in desperate need of an underground stronghold. Since the majority of their nuclear missiles, aircraft, and weaponry rested in the enemy's hands, they had needed a new place to set up shop.

The Nut was the perfect place. From the outside, it simply looked like the mountain it was, with the exception of multiple entrances carved into the rock. But the inside was cavernous, even sporting a train-based transportation system that could deliver the workers to various parts of the districts.

And now it was collapsed in on itself.

I don't hear what's being said by the narrator. I can only focus on the people fleeing in terror. The bombs striking The Nut. Wait . . . those bombs . . . I know that strategy. More importantly I know who developed it.

Gale. This was all Gale.

I can see it now. How he blew up the entrances, trapped the people inside. But the square of District 2 looks like a huge sinkhole, and then I realize that Gale went a step further. He blew up the train tunnels, too. Gale had no interest in preserving any of the District 2 citizens in the Nut. This was one of his deathtraps.

When his face fills the screen, my ears suddenly resume their function.

_Today is monumental for the Rebels. We've taken 2, and now the only thing stopping us is the Capitol. As you can see, _he gestures behind him at the destruction. _We are not weak! It's time for the Capitol's tyranny to end! So run and hide, Snow. Run and hide._

The image on the screen fades to black, but Gale's bold words are burning in flame against the blackness.

RUN AND HIDE.

The screen suddenly shuts off, leaving us all in silence.

Unsurprisingly, Rye is the first to speak. "Well, Katniss. You're best friend isn't too cool anymore."

No. He's not. I glance at Peeta, whose narrowed eyes are still glaring at the blank television screen. I stare at him for a moment, watching his calculative gaze sort through countless ideas in his mind. Haymitch is quiet as well, alternating glances between Peeta and the screen.

I still can't believe that Gale actually did it. How could he condemn so many lives? I wonder if it was an easy decision for him. I wonder if he backed up his reasons with logic or if he deluded himself into thinking that the move was justified because of the many, equally heartless acts of the Capitol. My chest aches at the thought that I'm losing my best friend. Or maybe it hurts so much because I truly think I've lost him already.

"When will they get back?" I ask, my voice sounding oddly detached.

Peeta and Rye remain silent, but Haymitch shrugs and says, "Probably sometime tomorrow."

Good. Because I had a few words for Gale Hawthorne.

"Well, this has been lovely, but I'm going to bed," Rye says and then promptly snuggles further into the bed and closes his eyes.

Well, that just doesn't work for me. With a slightly vindictive smile, I shove Rye off the bed, sending him tumbling and cursing to the floor. It's amazing that Lilly doesn't stir at the noise, but I notice Peeta's foot still steadily rocking the bassinet. I bet he doesn't even realize he's still doing it.

"Fine," Rye huffs dramatically. "Kick me out. Just because Peeta's Mr. Blonde, Buff, and Beautiful again doesn't mean that you can just toss me aside. I'm hurt. Did you hear that? It's the sound of my heart breaking."

"You're going to hear the sound of your neck breaking if you don't get your ass out of here," Peeta retorts seriously.

Rye frowns. "You're bluffing."

"Try me."

"Night!"

The moment the door shuts, Peeta's face breaks out in a grin. "He always falls for it."

I roll my eyes.

Haymitch gets to his feet, his back creaking as a stretches. "Getting old, Gramps," I tease.

"Don't call me that," Haymitch retorts without missing a beat. Then he turns to Peeta. "I assume you're going to tell her?"

Peeta nods, all previous lightheartedness vanishing from his face.

Haymitch takes a moment to whisper a few words to Lilly and then he leaves the compartment. Peeta and I sit in silence for a few minutes. The only sound in the room is the slight creak as Peeta continues to rock the bassinet. Finally, I can't stand it. "Peeta."

He looks up at me and sighs. Silently, he gets to his feet and then takes a seat beside me on the bed. After a moment of collecting his thoughts, he takes my hand in his and begins to play with my fingers. Then, he begins to speak. "When I used to leave in the middle of the night, I wasn't just wandering around aimlessly. I was scoping out 13. Looking for weak spots. Noting changes in the guard. Watch shifts. I was looking for anything that I could exploit. I found nothing." Peeta looks up at me, his eyes shining with begrudging admiration and fathomless frustration. "If anything, Coin knows how to cover her bases."

I understand the conclusion Peeta is leading to. "We can't kill her here in 13."

"No," Peeta agrees with a nod. He suddenly gets to his feet, running an irritated hand in his hair. "13 is completely under her control. She has the advantage."

"So we have to wait until she isn't in 13," I say, coming to the only logical conclusion.

"Exactly. And when would she feel confident enough—or arrogant enough—to leave the security of 13?"

My eyes widen. "When we take the Capitol."

Peeta nods and begins to pace. "If everything works out, we should have a chance." He frowns. He hates that most of his plan is hypothetical. "Say the Rebels take the Capitol. We win the war. Coin will want to show her power, but she'll also want to play for the people. She won't kill Snow. No, she'll make it a public event. Not only will it lead the people to believe that she's on their side, but she'll also want to see Snow realize that she won. She'll want him to watch his own downfall, and be subjected to the thousands of those that he has wronged." Peeta shakes his head, a humorless smile on his lips. "She doesn't know him like she thinks she does."

"Peeta." My voice causes him to look up and focus his attention on me once again. "Are you saying that you plan to kill her when she's giving a big speech or something? Before she kills Snow?"

"No," he shakes his head. "I plan to kill her before that."

"I'm lost. It might be crazy and start a riot if we were to kill her publicly, but wouldn't that also be a good thing? We could get away."

"We wouldn't be able to get close enough. Too many witnesses. Security would be too tight. We couldn't even get a shooter in place on a rooftop somewhere. They'll be prepared for that."

Peeta's really thought about this, I realize. He's thought of every possibility and all its faults. I admit that this conversation is incredibly uncomfortable for me. Because despite the fact that I know Coin would happily see me dead, Peeta too, to talk so seriously about murdering her seems crazy. And wrong.

But if I die, then Lilly is without a mother. I absolutely refuse to let that happen.

And so I'm plotting an assassination.

"So when?" I ask emotionlessly.

"Her security won't allow her to stay in Snow's mansion immediately," Peeta explains. "Not until it's been cleared and that will take days. Haymitch and I believe she'll stay close though, and from our memory, the best, most secure place for her to stay is a group of high-end apartments about five minutes away."

"You plan to get her as she's going to the mansion," I realize and Peeta nods.

"She'll have two guards at most with her in the car. Three if you count the driver. Now, she'll also want us to ride with her. Haymitch, too. That way she can keep an eye on us."

"What about Plutarch?" I ask. "Wouldn't he be with her?"

"I don't think so," he shakes his head. "Coin will want someone overseeing everything at the mansion. Plutarch will be there."

"Okay, so we kill her in the car?" I frown. "What about the driver?"

Peeta smiles. "The driver will be Rye or Finnick. They just don't know it yet. Basically, they will drive the wrong way. There's a decent sized alley halfway there that's relatively well hidden from the street. We pull into the alley. Haymitch and I overpower the two guards in the car. Then all that's left is Coin."

I sit on the bed in silence as the full reality of Peeta's plan washes over me. It could work. It could work really well. When the witnesses inevitably came by, we could easily play up being attacked if we staged the scene right. The blame could rest with some rogue Peacekeepers that managed to escape notice. It could easily seem like a tragedy. However, I still had one question.

"How are we going to get to the Capitol? To set this up, we would have to be there before her."

"And we will be," Peeta replies. "After all, who better to lead the charge on the Capitol than the Mockingjays themselves?"

In that moment, I decide that my husband is a genius.

A deadly one.

* * *

**Oh Peeta . . . honey, I love you.**

**So! It's crazy to say this, but we're actually nearing the end of this story! I know! There are four more chapters plus the epilogue. Only five more updates . . .**

**Sad day, guys.**

**But we mustn't get too down! There's still plenty to happen in this story! Prepare yourselves for a bumpy, action-packed sprint to the finish.**

**Summary time; Peeta has once again brought sexy back, and he can most definitely make up for what I lack; Katniss has now been promoted as the spokesperson for Teen Mom; Rye needs a nap; Lilly is precious; Haymitch has gone insane from sobriety; Gale made things go BOOM; and Hurricane Coin is about to crash into town . . .**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Gale!**

**"I didn't do a damn thing the Capitol hasn't done before!"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	23. Riot

**A/N: Hey, guys! Once again I'm running late! So this is going to be very short but hopefully very sweet!**

**THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF YOUR REVIEWS! REVIEWS! GLORIOUS REVIEWS!**

**I love you guys. Let's just face facts.**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Me: Guys, I don't have time for this today . . .**

******************************************Rye: That hurts, AC.**

******************************************Katniss: Seriously. You know you could have avoided this if you had just done your homework when you were supposed to . . .**

******************************************Me: Hey! I wrote this last night and then FF didn't save the changes!**

******************************************Peeta: Still, you usually have chapters prepped and ready to go days ahead of time . . . slacker . . .**

******************************************Me: Take it back!**

******************************************Peeta: Nope.**

******************************************Haymitch: You should be ashamed.**

******************************************Me: (hangs head)**

* * *

Chapter 23: Riot

_If you feel so angry_

_So ripped off, so stepped on_

_You're not the only one refusing to back down_

_You're not the only one, so get up_

_Let's start a riot_

* * *

As Haymitch predicted, Gale arrives back in 13 the next afternoon. I'm waiting in the aircraft hangar, watching as the hovercraft gently comes to rest in its designated spot. The loading ramp lowers to the ground and I note each face leaving the craft. None of them surprise me. Plutarch and Fulvia. Cressida and her team. Beetee. Boggs.

And then, finally, Gale.

It's almost as though he knew that I would be waiting for him, because he immediately finds my gaze. I take note of his hard expression, the defensiveness in his eyes. He knows exactly why I'm here. I try not to glare at him. I don't want this conversation to start off aggressively. Gale will simply fire a cutting retort and leave.

Wordlessly, he passes me, but I understand the silent signal to follow him. He leads us to an empty, dead end hallway and then turns to face me. Immediately, he crosses his arms over his chest in a defensive manner. "What do you want, Katniss?" he asks harshly.

"I just want to know why," I tell him honestly, carefully tucking my anger in the back of my mind. I have to keep a level head.

"It needed to be done," Gale replies coolly. "It was the only way to take The Nut."

"That's how you justify it?" I ask incredulously. "That's how you justify ending hundreds of lives?"

"Casualties of war." Gale's face is stony. "There's no avoiding it, Katniss. Bad things happen."

"That still doesn't give you the right to do what you did."

"What I did?" he repeats. "I didn't do a damn thing that the Capitol hasn't done before! Why should we show them mercy when we receive none in return?"

I stare at him uncomprehendingly for a moment as I take in what he's saying. "Don't you realize what you've become, Gale? Don't you see that by acting the way you are you've become the very people you hate? You're using their actions to justify your own! Both of which are despicable!"

Gale's eyes narrow dangerously. "I did what I had to do."

"No, you did what you _wanted_ to do," I retort angrily. So much for keeping a clear head. "You had a choice!"

"Yeah, I had a choice. And it was whether I was saving thousands of lives by blowing The Nut, or letting something like cowardice prevent me from doing nothing!"

"Courage is not the ability to take a life," I tell him softly, having run out of anger. "Trust me on that." I feel sadness take its place as I look into the grey eyes I once thought I knew so well. I don't recognize the person in front of me. "See who your anger is transforming you into, Gale."

"You don't know me," Gale snaps angrily and tears fill my eyes.

"No," I agree. "I don't. You're not my best friend. You have his face, but not his heart."

"You think I'm heartless."

"I think you've forgotten who you are."

There's a tense moment when neither of us speaks. We simply stare at each other. I try to see a vestige of the person I once knew. Who I trusted more than anyone. But all I see are cold grey eyes burning with a vengeful rage. Coin has poisoned him. She's taken my best friend.

And I hate her for it.

"I've got a meeting in Command," Gale says abruptly, breaking the silence. "Bye, Katniss."

In a fluid motion, he turns on his heel and quickly walks away from me without looking back. My hand finds my heart, as if to assuage the pain currently ripping it apart. I blink rapidly, trying to prevent the tears that are begging to be released. I will not cry. I will not cry.

Clenching my hands into fists, I march back to the compartment. The moment I'm through the door and shutting it softly behind me, I feel Peeta's eyes on me. I avoid eye contact with him. Instead, I approach the bassinet where a sleeping Lilly rests inside. I gently caress her cheek with my finger, stroke her soft raven hair. Slowly, I feel myself begin to relax.

Peeta's hands come to rest on my shoulders as he begins to knead the tension out of my muscles. I sigh, leaning my head back until it rests against his chest. His lips brush my neck and I relax further into his body, relishing the feel of his strong arms wrapping around my waist. I close my eyes, resting my arms on top of his.

"It didn't go well," he states knowingly, finally breaking the peaceful silence.

I shake my head, turning in his embrace. I focus on the beat of his heart, absently fiddling with a button of his shirt. "He's so angry, Peeta," I say quietly. "And bitter."

"Makes sense," Peeta says diplomatically. "The Capitol has brought him a lot of pain."

"That doesn't give him the right to do what he did."

"Maybe, but what does it matter? I'm not condoning what he did. But I'm not going to condemn him for it either. He hurt some of the people responsible for hurting him."

I stare at Peeta. Is he actually defending Gale? "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I know how he feels," Peeta replies honestly. "Because if I'm put in a room full of the people who tortured me, I know exactly what I would try to do."

I blanch. "You would kill them"

"Yes," he agrees solemnly. "I'm not proud of that, Katniss, but it's the truth."

"But they hurt you directly," I defend. "You're not going out trying to slaughter the entire Capitol. Those citizens in The Nut weren't directly responsible for any hurt that Gale may have received."

"Sure they might not have fired the shot, but they loaded in the gun," Peeta replies with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "There's no clear right and wrong in a war, Katniss. Everything gets blurred. Some big decisions are easily rationalized in the heat of the moment. I don't think anyone will ever know whether Gale did the right thing or not, or if the ends will ever justify the means. There's no going back."

I sigh as Peeta's words wash over me. Never thought I would see the day when Peeta would defend Gale, but his point is valid. I just . . . I can't get over the fact that Gale made a decision that cost so many their lives . . . and in such a cruel way. Snares have now become bombs. It was a deathtrap that Gale knowingly laid.

What bothers me most is his explanation; his reason why he was able to make the decision. It's nothing the Capitol wouldn't have done. He's right. The Capitol has done something like this and much worse. Just look at the bombing of 12, our home. That's all the evidence needed to prove his reasoning. But to justify his own means like that . . . it's wrong. He should be doing things because they're _right_. Not out of revenge.

"I just feel like I'm losing my best friend," I whisper after a moment. "He's not the same. He's too vengeful. I mean, he has always been angry at the Capitol. I just never thought that he would do something like this."

Peeta's silent for a moment before saying, "People change and people drift apart. It's simply how life works. Sometimes it just hurts more than others. Especially when you know that there's nothing you can do about it."

I wrap my arms around his waist, and he hugs me tighter, resting his chin on the top of my head. We stay like that for the longest time, and I simply enjoy the feeling of being held in his arms once again. For a moment, a few months ago, I had worried that this might never happen again. That Peeta wouldn't come back to me. I shouldn't have doubted him. Peeta will always come back to me.

"I'm glad you're back," I say softly. "I missed this."

Peeta sighs, kissing the top of my head. "I missed this, too. It was what I wanted from the moment I stepped foot in this place, but I just couldn't. I didn't want to hurt you."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" I pull away from him so I can see his face. "You could never hurt me."

Peeta's eyes darken slightly, and I know he's thinking of an incident nearly two months ago. When he had a flashback and (very briefly) choked me. After a moment he sighs and says, "Not intentionally."

"Peeta." I take his face in my hands. "I trust you with my life. Always have."

Peeta leans into my touch, closing his eyes. "I know," he whispers, turning his head just slightly to place a soft kiss on the inside of my wrist.

Gently, he takes my wrists in his hands, pulling me flush against him. I oblige, wrapping my arms around his neck as his hands glide down the sides of my body, coming to rest lightly on my hips. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling his face down to mine. Our lips meet in a soft, but deep kiss that expresses our feelings for each other perfectly.

He slowly begins to step backward toward the bed, sitting down on the edge and pulling me down to him, never breaking the kiss. I straddle his lap, fisting my hands in his hair as our mouths continue to move in perfect synchronization. Only when my lungs are threatening to burst do I pull away from him, gasping for air. But Peeta's lips never leave my skin. I tilt my head, allowing him better access to my neck, reveling in the wet, sucking kisses he trails down to my collarbone.

God, I'd missed this.

Suddenly, he picks me up and spins us around. We land in the middle of the bed in breathless laughter. Peeta hovers over me, pressing every inch of his body against mine. I feel his hands slip under my shirt as his lips find my neck again. My skin immediately begins to tingle as his hands brush my bare skin and a shudder runs through me.

I hook my leg behind his, bringing us even closer, causing a low moan to escape Peeta's lips. I pull his face back up to mine, gluing my mouth to his as I allow my hands to roam. Just as I've unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, greedily exploring the newly exposed skin, there's a knock on the door.

Peeta and I freeze, like we're regular teenagers afraid of getting caught making out by our parents. Both of us stare at the door and then back at each other. Then, we remember that we're a married couple who have been separated for months—by more than just distance—and we were probably about to have some really great sex.

Peeta buries his face into the crook of my neck. "I will kill whoever is at the door," he growls in frustration. "Slowly."

I sigh as the person knocks on the door once more, this time more insistent. "Katniss?" A man calls through the door. "You and your husband are needed in Command."

"So Boggs will be my first victim," Peeta mutters. "Regrettable, but unavoidable."

"Peeta," I chide, but I run my hand comfortingly through his hair.

"Fine," he grumbles. "I won't kill him."

"Good."

"I guess we should get up then."

"That would be a good idea."

So, with great reluctance, Peeta and I disentangle ourselves and hurriedly try to straighten our clothing. Peeta quickly fixes the buttons on his shirt that I managed to get undone, and runs his hand through his hair. I do the same. Quickly, we look ourselves over, making sure we're presentable, and then Peeta opens the door.

"This better be important," he says by way of greeting.

I swear that Boggs blushes. "Sorry to disturb you, but you are wanted in Command."

Peeta and I both glance at Haymitch. "Don't look at me," he says. "I don't know what we did this time."

I frown. "Who will watch Lilly?"

"Why, sweetcheeks, I'm insulted." Rye suddenly appears from behind Haymitch, clutching his heart dramatically. "It's like you forgot about me."

While Peeta and I may give him a hard time, we really do trust him with Lilly. Peeta and Rye just like to poke fun at each other. It must be a brother thing.

"If only," Peeta mutters before stepping aside and allowing Rye into the room. "She's sleeping."

"Oh, goodie. I love the little faces she makes," Rye says, already taking a seat in the rocking chair. "Go on, guys. I got this."

As always, any time I have to leave Lilly I feel a tug in my chest. I hate leaving her. I feel Peeta take my hand, offering comfort with the small gesture. He squeezes my hand. He doesn't like leaving Lilly either.

"Let's get this over with," I say with a deep breath, shutting the door behind us.

The walk to Command is made in complete silence, and I take the time to wonder about why Coin would want to talk to us. Obviously, something Mockingjay related would most likely be mentioned at some point. It would only make sense.

I nearly stop walking when it suddenly hits me, a possible reason why Coin wants to speak with us. I am medically cleared to go into the field. The minimum amount of recovery time has passed: six weeks. Coin could send me into the field. She could send Peeta into the field.

She's going to try to get rid of us. Permanently.

Judging by the tenseness of Peeta's shoulders, I know that he has reached the same conclusion as I have. My eyes flit over to Haymitch, whose expression is calculative, yet calm. A perfect poker face for the situation we were about to be thrust into.

When we step through the door of Command, every pair of eyes immediately finds us. Plutarch regards us with a frown, most likely remembering his last conversation with Peeta . . . if you can really call a single question and Peeta's, um, _creative_ response a conversation. Fulvia simply glares, if only because we've given her boss trouble. I'm glad to see that Cressida and her team still offer me a small smile. Pollux even gives me a subtle wave. The other military officials are regarding Peeta with restrained suspicion. Everyone remembers the last time he and Coin went head to head.

Coin herself is regarding us coolly, appraising. I watch as her gaze lingers on Peeta, taking in his healthy form and stern gaze. I can't help but feel extremely proud of him in this moment, as I realize—yet again—just how much he has overcome. Peeta is not affected by her gaze. In fact, he seems to be the picture of ease. Hands in his pockets. Back against the wall. Ankles crossed in front of him.

Compared to the straight-backed, proper stances of everyone else in the room, Peeta looks dreadfully out of place. However, all their attention is on him, which is exactly the way he wants it to be. I let him be the overprotective husband. I know that he's missed protecting me.

"Katniss, Peeta," Coin greats us, merely offering Haymitch an irritated glance. His presence bothers her. Good. "I hope you're doing well. How is your daughter?"

I smile tightly. The simple fact that she mentions Lilly unnerves me and makes me want to run back to the compartment. Just to make sure she's okay. "She's fine."

Coin turns her attention to Peeta. "And your own recovery is going well, is it not?"

"Almost back to normal," he replies evenly. "Of course, I still have those moments when I just want to strangle someone. Especially if they're a threat."

"I suppose you would feel the need to protect what's yours." Coin's eyes flicker to me briefly, her meaning clear. "I imagine you must feel the need to make up for missed opportunities."

Peeta smiles thinly. "Can you blame me?"

Coin merely smiles before glancing down at the piece of paper in front of her. "The reason I wanted to speak with you is to inform you that your stagnation as Mockingjays has ended. According to the doctors I've spoken to, Katniss, you're medically cleared for the field. And, Peeta, now that you're physically capable to withstand the rigors of the battlefield, you are out of excuses as well. Of course, I hate to tear you both away from your daughter, but some things cannot be avoided."

I grit my teeth in order to keep from shouting at her, to tell her that I know she plans on killing us somehow. Luckily, Peeta speaks before I can. "I'll go," he says, sounding extremely reluctant. "But leave Katniss out of it."

"Impossible," Coin retorts quickly. I see the smirk of victory in her eyes. She's enjoying this. "Both Mockingjays must be present when we storm the Capitol. The sight of the star-crossed lovers of District 12 reunited at last, battling their enemy that has caused them so much grief, will excite the rebels. They need hope for the final push. Surely, you cannot deny them that?"

"Please," Peeta hisses between clenched teeth as though the words are physically painful to utter. "Let Katniss stay. I'm fine with the possibility of dying. But I'm not leaving my child without at least one of her parents."

"Peeta," I try to calm him but he shakes his head. I place a gentle hand on his arm. "We don't have a choice," I whisper, though still loud enough for everyone to hear. I force tears into my eyes. "Let me go. I already lost you once. I'm not losing you again."

"You're not going!" Peeta snaps at me, losing his temper. He turns his angry blue eyes on Coin. "Just let her stay with the baby. I'm more capable than she is anyway. I know the Capitol better than she does. I'm more valuable."

"If you want a future for your child, I can't see either of you staying," Coin says, her threat clear. Peeta and I both become statues. "After all, wasn't your participation in the war meant to create a better world for her?"

"Peeta," I plead as a single tear slides down my cheek. "Let's finish this. Then we can go home."

"No—"

"They'll do it," Haymitch suddenly interrupts, earning glares from both me and Peeta. He isn't looking at us though, his eyes rest on Coin. "You have my word. When will they leave for the Capitol?"

"Haymitch!" Peeta shouts in outrage. "What are you doing?"

Haymitch ignores him.

"Three weeks," Coin replies. "The Rebels will march on the Capitol three weeks from today."

"Your Mockingjays will be there."

Coin nods, a nearly invisible smirk twisting her lips. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Soldiers escort the three of us out, and when one grabs Peeta's arm, he lunges at him, but Haymitch drags him back. We're escorted to the elevator by the guards in silence. Peeta and I are radiating a fiery fury, sending Haymitch glares that promise a painful death. Haymitch seems to look apologetic, but resolute.

That's how the guards leave us once we step onto the elevator. However, once the elevator doors close, a smile appears on Haymitch's face. "Kids, that went perfectly."

"You think?" Peeta asks, all of his previous anger vanishing. "It looked like she bought it."

"I think she did," I say as I relax into Peeta's side. "I mean, I actually managed to cry."

"The tears were a nice touch," Haymitch nods. "Your acting has gotten better, sweetheart."

"Your approval means the world."

Peeta sighs. "What matters is that she doesn't expect us to realize she's sending us to our deaths. If we had automatically agreed, especially after being so vehement against doing anything battle related, she would have been suspicious."

"Now we have our ticket to the Capitol," I say. This, of course, was crucial to Peeta's plan to kill Coin. Surprise, Coin! You just helped us come one step closer to killing you.

Peeta nods in response, and then turns to Haymitch. "We need to get with Finnick and Jo. They'll want to be with us when we're in the Capitol."

I frown as I try to follow his thinking. "They're going with us?"

"They won't want to miss it. The chance to go after Snow?" Peeta chuckles humorlessly. "Nothing will stop them from going."

Later that night, our compartment is at full capacity. I'm sitting on the bed with Johanna, holding Lilly in my arms and letting her play with my fingers. Rye and Finnick are occupying the only two chairs in the room, leaving Peeta and Haymitch standing in front of all of us.

"So, what do you want?" Johanna says after a moment, looking from me to Peeta to Haymitch. "Is this some friendly bonding thing? Did my therapist put you up to this?"

"No, of course not Jo," Finnick replies with a teasing smile. "Everyone knows not to bond with you."

Johanna growls and throws a pillow across the room, hitting Finnick square in the face, prompting Rye to grab a pillow of his own and cry, "Pillow fight!"

Peeta grabs the pillow from Rye's hands before he can smack Finnick. "Enough, guys," Peeta orders, tossing the pillows back onto the bed. "Believe it or not, this is actually important."

"Coin has ordered Peeta and Katniss into the field." The playful atmosphere evaporates at Haymitch's words. His face is strictly serious when he adds, "She plans to send them into the Capitol and then by some 'unfortunate' accident, get them killed."

Rye is the first to catch on, his eyes brightening slightly in realization. He looks at Peeta. "You came up with a plan. A real one."

"A plan to do what?" Finnick questions confused.

"To kill Coin," Peeta replies coldly, causing a suffocating silence to envelope the room as our friends digest his words. "We don't have a choice. Katniss is too much of a threat to her. When we win the war, Coin will want to be President, and Katniss is the only one who has the power to take that away from her."

"Because the people follow her," Johanna says with a nod of understanding.

"Yes," Haymitch agrees. "Exactly."

"So I'm guessing we're here because it's more than a three man job," Rye assumes, looking uncharacteristically serious.

Peeta smiles slightly at his older brother. "Only if you're up for it."

"Well I'm in," Johanna declares lightly. "I've never liked the bitch anyway."

"There's more to this now than just Coin," Peeta says after a moment. "Of course, for the plan to work, we'll have to be in the Capitol before she is. Since she's sending us in to storm the Capitol, that's already taken care of, but the question is what do we do while we're there?"

"Fight, obviously," Rye answers, eyeing his brother with confusion and interest. "But there's more."

"We're in there to storm the Capitol," I say, speaking for the first time. I keep playing with Lilly, tickling her belly slightly, smiling faintly when she squeals in delight. "We'll have to fight or we'll die. It'll almost be like we're back in the arena. All the rules will be the same. Except for one. We'll only need one death to win these Games."

I finally look up to see their faces, all them looking contemplative except for Peeta and Haymitch, who already know the answer. Rye finally frowns and asks, "Who?"

"President Snow." All eyes in the room flit to Haymitch. "If we're in the Capitol, we might as well make use of our time."

"I'm in," Finnick says immediately, his gaze unusually cold. All of us understand. In many ways, Finnick has suffered more than any of us due to Snow.

"Well there's no way I'm missing this," Johanna says offhandedly, though a menacing light has entered her eye. "Let's make him squeal."

Rye raises his hand. "Question." Peeta merely raises his eyebrows. "Of course, I'm totally on board with this plan. No one messes with my family. But, am I the only one wondering how we're going to sneak away from the Alpha team, led by _Boggs _of all people, manage to sneak into mansion undetected—"

"After avoiding all the boobytraps in the Capitol streets," Finnick adds helpfully.

"What he said," Rye nods in Finnick's direction. "So, how are we going to do all of that and not manage to die?"

Peeta smirks slightly, and asks, "Come on, Rye. When don't I have a plan?"

* * *

**Oh, Peeta, how I adore you.**

**So! Not only are they planning to kill Coin, they're gonna get Snow, too. Seriously, why not put their time in the Capitol to even better use? This is when we fasten our seatbelts, people. Because I have my very own special ending to this series.**

**Which totally, under no circumstances, happened in canon. People die. And all of you will hate me. But hey, it's a war, right?**

**Summary: Peeta is the new Hannibal for the A-team; Finnick is Face; Rye can be Murdock; which leaves Johanna as BA . . . strangely it works, right?; Katniss and Lilly are two peas in a pod; Coin is the leader of the Borg Collective; Gale has been assimilated, resistance was futile; and Snow is currently down his little rabbit hole . . .**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Peeta!  
**

**"You won't lose me."  
**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	24. This is War

**A/N: Well, we have arrived at the beginning of the end! I'm excited. I also find everyone's absolute vehemence against Rye's death very amusing and humbling, considering that so many of you adore him and he's _my_ character (that is also in my own series I'm working on, but with a different name). So, thank you! **

**But I'm still not revealing whether or not he dies, or anyone else for that matter. So . . . yeah . . . it's fun to see who all will kill me when it's all said and done though, I must admit.**

**Oh, and I'm pretty sure you guys will love parts of this chapter . . . and want to maim me for others. I only ask that you spare my hands so I may continue to write.**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Me: Okay, guys . . . the fun now begins . . .**

******************************************Rye: You are a sick and twisted fiend!**

******************************************Me: Wow, Rye. That hurts.**

******************************************Peeta: Then stop giving him cause to say it!**

******************************************Katniss: Seriously? Haven't you put us through enough? I mean, in this chapter I . . .**

******************************************Me: SILENCE! No spoilers!**

* * *

Chapter 24: This is War

_It's the moment of truth and the moment to lie_

_The moment to live and the moment to die_

_The moment to fight, the moment to fight  
_

_To fight, to fight, to fight!_

* * *

If it weren't for the darkness smothering the room, preventing me from counting the minuscule cracks in the ceiling, my mind would at least be slightly diverted from the torrent of thoughts currently threatening to drive me insane. All I can think about is how, tomorrow morning, I will board a hovercraft to fly to the Capitol.

It's terrifying to think that after nearly two years, I might actually be free. No more Snow. No more Hunger Games. No more Coin. No more war. All of this could come true in mere days. After fighting for so long, the idea of peace seems foreign and both equally terrifying and exciting.

What would life be like without the threat of a Hunger Games hovering over our heads? What would it be like to have enough food on the table? What would it be like to have no fence surrounding District 12? What would this new world be like? As the fantasies run through my mind, I find them incredibly enticing but comical. Could life really be like I imagine it might be? A life where I could live peacefully with Peeta and raise Lilly? It seems like such a simple idea, but I haven't known peace for so long.

And though I yearn for it with my entire being, I'm terrified of actually achieving it. If only because experience has taught me that any peace I gain will be snatched from me.

I sigh quietly, closing my eyes and trying to sleep. I need to be well-rested. Storming the Capitol is no simple task. Are we prepared? The question haunts me mercilessly. Even with three weeks to prepare and plan for every detail that might go awry, anything could happen. What if Peeta dies? What if we can't find Coin's assassin? What if Finnick doesn't remember where a boobytrap lies cloaked in the Capitol's street? What if we can't get away from Boggs' team without them realizing it? Will Haymitch be able to divert attention away from us in Command? What if Rye dies? Johanna? I don't know if I can stand to watch yet another friend die.

"Katniss." Peeta's soft voice breaks through my mild panic attack. The sheets rustle quietly as Peeta turns on his side to face me. His hand easily finds my chin in the dark, tilting my face toward him. In the faint glow of the room, all I can see is a vague outline of his form, but his blue eyes seem to shine in the darkness. "Stop worrying."

"I can't help it," I whisper. "So many things could go wrong."

"We're prepared for that," Peeta assures me, lightly caressing my cheek. "We'll finish this. Once and for all." I don't speak, not trusting my voice. Suddenly, I feel Peeta's lips in the hollow of my throat. "We'll be fine," he whispers. His lips begin a slow, sensual journey along my neck. "We'll win the war." I sigh as he places a kiss just under my jaw. "We'll take care of Coin and Snow." My eyes close involuntarily when I feel his hands begin to wander. "And then we'll finally go home."

I desperately want to believe him, especially considering the particular brand of persuasion he's currently employing. And although my body is coming alive under his touch, my brain refuses to allow me to give myself over into the sensations. Peeta senses how tense I still am and asks, "Katniss, what are you so afraid of?"

"Losing you."

The confession leaves my lips so softly it's barely audible, but Peeta hears. He pulls me to him, hugging me tightly. "You won't lose me." His breath tickles my ear. "Never. I'll always be with you. I promise." I try to take comfort from his words, but it's not enough. I need him to prove his words. I need to feel him. I need to know that he's with me, that he's willing to _stay_ with me. Always.

So I crash my mouth to his, my hands immediately tangling in his hair to keep him from pulling away. Not that I have to worry about such a thing. Peeta responds immediately, returning the kiss with a sense of urgency. He shifts so that he's hovering over me, and my fists release their grip on his hair in order to roam the broad expanse of his chest. I feel the muscles tense under the fabric of his shirt, but this is not enough for me. I want skin on skin.

My fingers grip the hem of his shirt and then pull it over his head. I can hardly see him in the darkness of the room, but that doesn't matter. I can feel him. Eagerly, my hands explore the exposed skin that has been hidden from me for too long. I feel the slight ridges and dips along his skin from his scars, but they don't bother me. If anything, they cause my touch to be more gentle, more loving. I trace every scar that my fingers find, and it doesn't take long for Peeta to realize what I'm doing.

He tenses slightly. "Katniss—"

"They don't bother me," I whisper to him, placing a soft kiss on his lips. "I love them."

"They're hideous."

"They're a sign of strength," I argue. "Each one tells a story. Each one shows how you fought to come back to me. How could I hate them?"

Apparently, my answer is enough to convince him, because his lips capture mine in a deep kiss that immediately causes the desire in the pit of my stomach to flame brightly. His nimble fingers make quick work of ridding my body of clothing and the moment we're skin to skin, I finally forget all my worries. All that exists is Peeta and the flood of sensation his touches evoke, and when we're finally as close as we can be, I feel whole. We're finally together. Completely.

Hours later, I wake up aching in all the right places. The bed beside me is empty, but I hear the faint sound of the shower coming from the bathroom. For a moment I simply lie in bed, allowing myself to sink into the pillows and soak in the moment. Last night was many things; cathartic, loving, passionate . . .

Perfect.

I can't help but giggle like a lovestruck girl.

I hear the water shut off in the shower and feel a mischievous smile stretch my lips. I slip out of bed and pull on his shirt as I silently traverse the short distance to the bathroom. When I open the door, I'm greeted with a glorious sight. Peeta. Still wet from the shower. In only a towel.

He stares at me in surprise. "Hi."

"Hi," I reply softly. For some reason, all my previous mischief has vanished at the sight of him. Instead, I feel awkwardly shy.

I divert my eyes from his, choosing to rest my gaze on his chest instead. Immediately, my eyes lock onto a scar that runs along his collarbone, as though someone traced it with a blade. Peeta must notice my distraction, because I see him tense slightly. My eyes meet his and I see the wariness in them . . . and the vulnerability.

I close the distance between us, and then, slowly, allow my finger to trace the scar along his collarbone. Peeta remains utterly motionless as I continue to examine his scarred torso. Like last night, my fingers trace over each scar, but it's different this time. This time I can actually see them. I take note of the ones that are from burns. They form a sporadic pattern along his right side. A particularly jagged scar lies diagonally on his stomach. Stab wound.

I take in every single scar, even taking each of his arms to examine them as well. Slowly, I step behind him to examine his back. Instantly, I recognize the lash marks. Not as many as Gale, but still far too many. I simply place a kiss between his shoulders. Only then does Peeta move, gently reaching behind him to grab my arm to pull me back in front of him. His eyes meet mine, and I see the residual pain in them.

"I know you hate them," I say softly. "But I don't."

Peeta tries to smile, but he fails spectacularly. So I step forward and press a kiss to a thin scar on his chest. Then I move on to another one, and then another, slowly making my way to his lips. I kiss him softly, my hands dancing across his chest until I wrap my arms around his neck. Peeta's hands find my hips, pulling me closer to him. When we finally pull away, he jokes halfheartedly, "Can't get enough of me, huh?"

I smile. "Never."

A brief moment passes where we do nothing but stare into each other's eyes. Then, Peeta says, "I love you."

"I love you, too. Always."

Peeta smiles, and this time the expression reaches his eyes. "We need to get ready. We leave in an hour."

My smile falls at the reminder and Peeta kisses my cheek. "Hey, it'll be fine," he assures. "Now, get ready and I'll take care of Lilly."

As the warm, soothing water from the shower pours over my body, I try to keep myself relaxed. But it's proving to be a futile effort. Now that my "morning after" bliss is fading, the reality of what all may happen today has hit me full force. Like last night, I begin to think of every possible thing that could go wrong. My imagination conjures foul images in my mind. I see each of my friends die before my eyes. Finnick. Johanna. Rye. Peeta . . .

I shake my head as I shut off the water and wrap myself in a towel. I can't go into the Capitol thinking like this. I have to be focused. Our plan to invade the Capitol fills my mind. According to 13, our job as part of the Alpha team is mainly propo related. Yes, we'll be fighting, but the cameras will be rolling. We're supposed to make it to the front lawn of the President's mansion where we will then lead the Rebel troops into the final battle.

Peeta's version of the plan is quite different. I run over everything that we need to do in my mind. While the plan is not overly complicated, the execution is critical. If any one of us drops our guard, we'll miss our chance to slip away from the group. Of course, that part of the plan is really all up to Finnick.

My Mockingjay outfit is a snug fit, but it's workable. I braid back my hair as I exit the bathroom, tossing it over my shoulder after I've secured it with a hair tie. Instantly, my eyes land on the bed. The sight before me makes tears spring into my eyes.

Peeta is lying back on the bed, dressed in his soldier's uniform. His eyes are closed, but I know he's not asleep. Lilly is lying on his chest, fast asleep, with Peeta's hand resting lightly on her back. The picture is so perfect that I hate to disturb it. In this moment, I want nothing more than to lie down and curl into Peeta's side so all three of us can rest together. I want to stay here in this little sanctuary with my family and play with my daughter all day.

But I can't.

Peeta's eyes suddenly open, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. Gently, so he doesn't disturb her, he eases off the bed and props her up so that her head rests on his shoulder. Wordlessly, I mold myself to his side, my arms wrapping around his waist. We stand there for a long moment in a family hug before Peeta finally pulls away.

"Come on," he says. "I already packed her stuff."

I grab the bag resting on top of the dresser and together we leave the compartment, taking all of our things with us. In Lilly's bag are all of her needs along with mine and Peeta's few personal belongings. A couple of t-shirts. His sketchbooks, charcoals, and pencils. Even the silver parachute from the Quell. However, the pearl rests in my pocket, just as it always has.

Peeta was surprised to learn that I had managed to hold onto it despite everything . . . and secretly very pleased.

When we enter the hospital, no one is in the lobby. We arrived specifically between shifts so that no one would know we were here. Quickly, we walk a very familiar path through the halls, carefully darting behind corners when we catch sight of a night nurse. Finally, we manage to make it to our destination unseen.

Dr. Riley is waiting for us in her office, a relatively large space considering District 13's frugality. A small, organized desk is pressed against one wall while two filing cabinets occupy a corner. The rest of the space is filled by a cushioned rocking chair, a bassinet, and a tiny play area full of toys that I assume are traditionally reserved for her grandchildren.

"There you are," she says quietly. "Right on time."

"Everything is in here," I say, sitting the bag on the floor. "And she ate earlier this morning."

Dr. Riley nods. She's no stranger to babies and how things work, which is partially why we chose her to watch over Lilly while we were in the Capitol. With all of our usual babysitters on the mission as well, there was no one left in 13 that we could trust. Dr. Riley only knows the bare minimum of what we plan to do. It was the only way she would agree.

Once the battle commenced, District 13 would be sending the majority of its doctors into the Capitol to set up triages for the wounded. I already knew that my mother and Prim were two of the nurses settled to go, despite my protests that Prim stay away from the action. My little sister is just as stubborn as I am when she wants to be.

Dr. Riley will also be going, but she will be going tomorrow. Haymitch will meet her when her hovercraft lands and take Lilly. If Haymitch is somehow unavailable, Prim will meet her instead. Prim doesn't know anything of the plan. She only knows to pick up Lilly if Haymitch can't.

Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, President Snow will be dead.

Of course, then we have to worry about Coin. I remind myself to deal with one tyrant at a time.

"She'll be perfectly safe," Dr. Riley assures us, gently prying Lilly from Peeta. "I promise."

"Thank you for doing this," I say gratefully. "You're the only person we can trust."

"I feel for you, sweetie," she says with a small smile. Her withered hand rests on my arm. "You take care of yourself." She looks at Peeta. "You too, handsome."

"We will," Peeta promises. "We owe you one."

"Yes, you do, but we'll get to that after all this is over."

We all fall into silence when there's nothing left to say, nothing else to keep us here. But my feet refuse to walk out the door and leave my baby. It will be my first time away from her for more than an hour. I walk forward, gently placing a kiss on her head. I'm glad she's asleep. If I looked into her big, blue eyes I'm not sure I would be able to leave.

"I'll be back," I tell her softly. "I promise."

And then I force myself to turn away from her. Peeta wraps an arm around my waist, as if knowing that if his arm didn't form some sort of restraint I would turn right back around and take her into my arms. He shuts the door behind us and in silence we sneak out of the hospital unseen.

"We'll be back," he assures me. "We will."

I merely nod, not trusting myself to say anything. When we arrive in the aircraft hangar, the rest of the team is waiting. Boggs, the leader of the Alpha team, is standing in the middle of everyone, most likely going over plans one last time. With the new exceptions of myself, Peeta, Rye, Johanna, and Finnick, the Alpha team consists of seven other individuals. Gale, of course. Boggs, too. Jackson, his second in command, is a hefty woman, but it's solid muscle. Her face is fierce and determined and rumor has it that she can shoot things we can't even see without a scope. The Leeg sisters are in their twenties and look so much alike that I can hardly tell them apart. I simply dubbed them Leeg 1 and Leeg 2. Mitchell and Homes are two grisly looking men that can shoot the dust off your boots from fifty yards.

All in all, they're an all-star team.

Personally, I'm wondering which of these seven people Coin has ordered to try to kill me or Peeta.

For the past three weeks, both Peeta and I have been looking for the most likely suspect. We've narrowed it down to two possibilities. My first choice is Jackson. Jackson is a hard woman who does her duty and obeys orders, and I think that Boggs is too obvious a choice. Peeta, on the other hand, thinks it's Mitchell. He doesn't even know why. I don't either. Mitchell is about as nondescript as a person can be. But the very first time Peeta ever saw him, he instantly suspected him.

"There you are," Boggs says as we enter the group. He checks his watch. "Right on time."

"Wouldn't want to be late for this," Peeta replies evenly, and Boggs nods understandingly. Of all the soldiers in 13, I trust him the most.

Now that everyone is present, we all board the hovercraft. It's a tight fit inside, since we're taking one of the stealth planes, but we all manage to avoid stepping on each other's toes. Peeta and I sit toward the back, with Rye, Johanna, and Finnick sitting near us. Together, the five of us form our own little squad. There's no time to talk, though Rye gives us his signature carefree grin that seems dreadfully out of place in the seriousness of the situation.

Everyone is silent as Boggs goes over the plan yet again. Really, it's not that difficult. Although we're the most lethal squad, we're actually not doing that much serious fighting. Our main goal is to dispose of pods. Of course, we already knew about pods because of Finnick who knows every Capitol secret there is. So we weren't surprised to learn of their existence. Essentially, pods are the boobytraps that are set up along the Capitol streets. The closer you get to the President's mansion, the more deadly they become. Our job as part of the Alpha team is to deploy these pods and be filmed doing it.

One of these pods is very crucial to Peeta's plan to separate from the rest of the squad.

Boggs, courtesy of Plutarch, has a special holographic map of the Capitol that shows the placements of the pods. So, in theory, we should know exactly what we're getting ourselves into. However, we know something that no one knows. We know the pods that the holograph doesn't show. One in particular.

Right before we land on the outskirts of the Capitol, everyone gets their weapons ready. I secure my quiver of arrows, courtesy of Beetee, over my shoulder, and draw back the string of my bow. Peeta slings his machine gun over his shoulder, looking fairly comfortable with the weapon, despite not having any experience using it with the exception of the past few weeks of target practice. He's actually an okay shot, better than anyone expected. I wonder if it has to do with the one of the many secrets of his capture that I'll never know.

Once everyone is locked and loaded, we emerge from the hovercraft. We're entering the heart of the city by way of a tunnel cut through one of the mountains. It's a six hour trek with only a line of glowing green paint that shows you were to step, and by the time we enter the Rebel encampment all of us are sweating despite the cool temperature.

The Rebel camp stretches for about ten blocks, located near the train station where Peeta and I first entered the Capitol nearly two years ago. It's crawling with soldiers who take notice of us immediately, recognizing the majority of team as Victors of the Hunger Games. Finnick gets a few salutes, which he gleefully returns. Johanna merely scowls at his antics. Rye is surprisingly quiet, taking in his surroundings, while Peeta and I are entirely focused on the rest of the team, searching for anything that will give away our potential assassin.

Really, we can't afford a single second of relaxation. In order to keep our promise to Lilly, we can never let our guard down.

We're allowed to rest for an hour or so, and Peeta and I find a place against the wall of what used to be a candy shop. It's brick is painted a bright, bubblegum pink, though all its windows have been shattered and the candy inside looted by Rebel soldiers. We sit in silence for the majority of the time, and I find myself thinking of how just earlier this week, this place was crawling with Peacekeepers. The rebel forces eventually pushed them back further into the city, claiming this part as their own. Many lost their lives.

I'm so tired of death. I want this to end. I want peace. I _need_ peace.

My mind drifts to Lilly, my sweet baby girl. At this point in the day, she's probably just waking from her afternoon nap. I wonder if she's fussy. Sometimes she is. Will she be upset that I'm not there to soothe her? Will it make her cry more? My heart aches at the thought of her crying out for me. I'm unable to answer her this time.

I lean my head on Peeta's shoulder. "I want my baby," I tell him softly. "I want to hold her."

"She's safe." Peeta wraps his arm around me and tucks me into his side. "We'll see her tomorrow night. I promise."

"I want this to be over. I want to go home."

"So do I," he whispers, kissing my head. "So do I."

At precisely four o' clock we decide to move out and begin shooting some propos. Slowly, with Boggs in the lead, all of us fan out across the very street where Peeta and I made our fiery debut in the parade. Our footsteps would be silent if it weren't for the crunch of rainbow colored glass under our feet. The buildings that tower over us on either side show only moderate signs of war. The walls are black with smoke. Some caked with bullet holes. Most, if not all the windows are blow out, hence the glass that litters the street.

Cressida has us shoot some random objects along the streets. If we set off too many pods in succession, the Capitol will know that we have a Holo and may simply blow up the block. So we have to be sporadic when detonating the pods. The first pod we detonate releases a spray of gnat muttations that try to devour our skin. However, we were prepared for this and immediately release a toxic gas (to the gnats) and watch them fall to the ground in a black heap.

Can't say it was very dramatic, which is exactly why Cressida asks us to try to take the next block. She gets in a few good shots of us pretending to be under heavy gun fire, and the Capitol sound effects in the background actually make it seem moderately real. But Cressida still isn't satisfied, and so we decide to detonate another pod.

However, where the Holo describes the pod as containing another swarm of flesh-eating gnats, instead it releases a spread of metal darts. One lands in Leeg 2's brain. She dies on the spot. It's heartbreaking to watch Leeg 1 cry over her fallen sister, but she doesn't allow herself to grieve for long. After only a few minutes she allows the medics to take her sister away. Then, she picks herself up and grabs her gun. A very familiar look shines in her eyes. Revenge.

Saddened by the loss, but knowing that we need to take at least one more block before nightfall, Boggs keeps us moving. I nearly stop walking when I recognize the street. It's exactly as Finnick described. A sea of blue buildings, broken up occasionally by a seashell-studded white façade. At the sight of the block, Peeta and I share a look.

Time to put our plan in motion.

Rye, who was previously picking up the rear, suddenly moves to flank Peeta on the left. Finnick and Johanna come up on my right side, Finnick trailing just slightly behind us all. There's a specific paving stone on this street, according to Finnick; a pale orange stone that sets off an explosion with a blast radius of at least fifteen feet. Yes, it's very contained, but incredibly powerful.

Our plan is to set it off.

Because just in front of the stone, barely the minimum safe distance away, is a manhole that leads into the sewers. That's our ticket into the mansion.

I should have known that everything would go to hell.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings through the air—one that is not a sound effect from one of Cressida's team. "Take cover!" Boggs orders sharply, and all of us dive behind something relatively bulletproof. Peeta practically throws me behind a car, hovering protectively over me. Scowling in annoyance, I set myself up to take a shot at the enemy shooter. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Finnick and Johanna behind some crates. Rye is in a partially shielded doorway. Despite the unexpected, all of us somehow managed to stay together.

The sound of gunfire is intensifying. More enemy marksmen. I spot a sniper on the rooftop of an opposite building and quickly take aim. The first arrow I've fired in months lands right between his eyes. I hardly notice as the limp body falls from his perch on the roof before smacking against the pavement below.

Peeta is firing his gun in spurts, conserving ammunition. Two enemies fall to the ground.

Suddenly, I see an enemy marksmen aiming right at an oblivious Rye, who is under heavy fire from the opposite direction. I don't have a shot from my position without exposing myself, but no one else has seen the imminent danger to Rye. Without a thought, I flee from my cover behind the car, vaguely hearing Peeta screaming at me to stop.

Quick as I can, I take aim and fire just as the enemy does. My arrow finds his heart. His bullet finds Rye's shoulder. Immediately, I rush to him, ducking behind the pathetic wooden door that is his providing his cover. With a single glance, I assess the wound. The bullet went through and through, so at least I don't have to worry about removing it. Rye is gritting his teeth in pain, muttering profanity that I've heard from Peeta on rare occasions. I swear, no one can curse like a Mellark.

I swat his hands away to put pressure on the wound, flinching when he groans in response. Hot, wet, red blood spills between my fingers, coating my hands, but I don't let up. The sounds of chaos and bullets rain down on us, splintering the wooden door that is for now holding steady, but not for long. We have to move.

"We have to move!" I shout at him. I glance around. Going back to Peeta is out of the question. It's too open. The only place left with moderate cover a few yards away is an abandoned trolley; a food stand of some sort. I point to the trolley. "We're going there!" Rye nods, breathing too heavily to speak. "On three! One! Two! Three!"

I yank him up, and together we stumble toward the trolley. Gunfire dusts our feet, but we keep going. Suddenly, someone slams into me. Rye is thrown forward, fortuitously landing safely behind the trolley. However, I'm still painfully vulnerable.

I manage to turn to face my attacker and find myself staring into the dark brown eyes of Mitchell. Something hard and metal is pressed into my chest, and I realize it's the muzzle of handgun. He's the assassin that Coin sent. Instantly, I'm struggling to get away from him, but his weight is too much. I watch as his eyes narrow, as his finger slowly begins to squeeze the trigger.

I'm going to die.

* * *

**Cliffhanger! It's been too long, guys. I couldn't resist.**

**So, Katniss is back in action! Mothers are the most dangerous people on the planet, I swear. **

**Oh, and people start dying next chapter. Just a head's up.**

**Summary time; Peeta and Katniss get jiggy with it (FINALLY); Rye gets shot; Finnick and Johanna are playing an awesome game of Halo; Peeta is too sexy for his shirt (duh); Katniss is Hawkeye's long lost daughter; Dr. Riley is officially part of the conspiracy; and someone is about to die . . .**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . President Snow!  
**

**"Why can't you just die like everyone else?"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	25. Do You Hear The People Sing?

**A/N: Ah! Only two more chapters! ONLY. TWO. MORE. CHAPTERS.**

**I'm going just as crazy as you guys are. Trust me on that. It's crazy to think that the project that has occupied my life for nearly a year is coming to an end. Sad day, guys. Sad day.**

**But! The end, while steadily growing closer, has not yet arrived! Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves. And since I left you guys with an oh, so wonderful cliffy last time, I'll just skip the pleasantries, with the exception of giving a very loud, raucous shout out to all of my reviewers! I love you! A lot.**

**Oh, and I must point out that the chapter title today comes from _Les Mis, _otherwise known as the best musical in existence.  
**

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Katniss: Come on! What happens to me? I've been thinking I was about to die all weekend!**

******************************************Peeta: Yeah! Not nice, AC.**

******************************************Rye: YOU SHOT ME. HOW DARE YOU.**

******************************************Me: (shrugs) Yep. **

* * *

Chapter 25: Do You Hear the People Sing?

_Do you hear the people sing?_

_Singing the song of angry men_

_It is the music of a people, who will not be slaves again_

_When the beating of your heart, echoes the beating of the drums_

_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes_

* * *

_I'm sorry, Lilly. _

The thought runs through my mind the exact same time the gun goes off . . . except I'm not dead.

Why am I not dead?

My ears are ringing from the close proximity of the blast. If the dust rising off the ground is any indicator, the bullet lodged in the pavement stone hardly a foot from me. The side of my face stings from bits of stone that cut my skin. However, none of this explains why I'm still alive.

I look to my right and see a figure struggling with Mitchell. I'd recognize that body anywhere. Mitchell tries to pin Peeta to the ground, but Peeta once again proves just how powerful he is. In a swift move, Peeta yanks Mitchell's gun arm to the side, throwing him offbalance. He plants his feet on the assassin's chest and kicks him away.

There's a snapping sound as he lands six feet away, but it's not the sound of breaking bone. Steel cables attached to tracks alongside the buildings break through the stone, dragging up the net that encases Mitchell. At first, I don't understand how instantly bloody he is, but then I note that the net is made of wire. The very same wire that curls atop the District 12 fence.

Suddenly, Peeta is in my line of sight, picking me up and carrying me behind the trolley where Rye lays, nearly unconscious. The entirety of the previous scuffle hardly lasted more than a minute, and yet it feels so much longer. By the look on Peeta's face, he seems torn between wanting to kiss me senseless and scream at me for being an idiot.

In the end he decides on neither, instead looking for Finnick and Johanna. They've slowly moved forward, providing cover fire for each other. The firefight is beginning to wind down. If we don't move now then we'll never be able to separate from the group.

Just then, a foul smelling stench reaches my nostrils, and I immediately want to gag. Down the street, a geyser spilling gallons of black tar begins to coat the street. Already, I'm beginning to feel lightheaded from the strong smell. We need to get out of here.

"Finnick!" Peeta yells, his meaning clear.

Finnick immediately understands and takes what appears to be a pointless shot.

The explosion a second later proves otherwise. Everyone near it is blasted off their feet, but I don't pay attention to that. I'm running toward the manhole, shoving the heavy metal lid to the side. Peeta has Rye thrown over his shoulder. Quickly, he hands him to me and then jumps down through the hole. I hear a dull thud and a curse as he lands, but then he shouts, "Drop him!"

Silently begging Rye's forgiveness, I shove him down the manhole. Johanna and Finnick are beside me now. Johanna drops down without a word.

"Go!" Finnick shouts.

And so I close my eyes and let myself fall. The fall isn't as long as I thought it would be, and I land heavily in a pair of strong arms. Peeta lowers me to my feet without a word and in the next second, the light suddenly disappears and Finnick drops down beside me, stumbling slightly on the landing, but not appearing to have hurt himself.

There's a brief moment of silence as we all catch our breath, which isn't the most pleasant thing to do in a sewer, but I'm not complaining. At least we're away from the gunfire. I hope that everyone on the team is alright, especially Boggs and Gale. I hope that they don't try to look for us. The explosion and debris hid us from their view. It hardly took ten seconds to disappear.

A pained groan causes my attention to refocus. Rye. Instantly, I'm by his side. "We need something to stop the bleeding," I say quickly. Peeta's already on it, quickly tearing off his shirt, leaving him with only a grey tank top that's so tight I can see each individual abdominal muscle clearly. Focus, Katniss.

I make a makeshift bandage out of the material, tying it tightly. Rye moans slightly, and I slap his cheek. Not hard, but with enough force to keep him awake. "Rye, stay with me," I order firmly. "This is your chance to prove you're tougher than your brother."

As I suspected, the challenge is enough to make Rye force his eyes wide open and a grim expression to grace his features. "Help me up."

Peeta immediately pulls his brother to his feet and Rye throws an arm over his shoulders. He leans heavily on Peeta, but he's still standing on his own two feet. He'll be able to walk with us for a little while, but we'll have to stop before I would like.

"Well, that was a little unexpected excitement," Finnick says as we set off down the dark tunnel of the sewer.

Johanna snorts. "Excitement we didn't need."

The sewers themselves are dank and musty. They're a tall stone tunnel with a river of I-really-don't-want-to-know running down the middle. We're walking along a slightly raised level of stone that's sort of like a single step that runs along both sides of the tunnel. The sound of a splash is occasionally heard as one of us steps in a puddle. It's cool and dark in the tunnel, the only light coming from the dim glowing bulbs that line the tunnel wall every few yards.

"Are you sure this leads into the dungeons?" Finnick asks after a long period of silence, looking at Peeta.

"I'm sure," Peeta replies, slightly winded from supporting so much of Rye's weight. "Coincidentally enough, we'll come up right at the beginning of my cell block. Trust me. We won't get lost."

We continue to walk in silence for the next two hours. It's slow going since Rye is injured, but I really don't think anyone minds. All of us seem consumed by our own thoughts. Personally, I'm thinking a multitude of things. Of course, naturally, there's a part of my brain that is always thinking about Lilly. Hopefully she's sleeping soundly. It must be sometime near eight in the evening. What if she can't sleep, though? What if she needs me to sing to her? Or Peeta to tell her a story? My heart aches painfully, and I wish that I could somehow be in two places at once.

My other thoughts are slightly more random. I'm worried about Rye and how much blood he's lost. He needs to see a doctor as soon as possible. I'm thinking about President Snow. I'm wondering what he's doing, if he's scared of what's coming. My more vengeful side flares as I continue to think of the man that started this entire mess. The man who forced me into the arena two years ago. The man who threatened Peeta and everyone I cared about. The man who sent me into the arena yet _again_.

The man who took Peeta from me. The man who hurt him. The man who has given him nightmares and dark, painful memories that will never fade, no matter how much times passes. The man who shattered the cheerful optimism of my husband. The man who forced hatred into his heart.

When my body begins to shake with the strength of my emotions, I force myself to take a deep breath and try to clear my head. I take notice of my surroundings, surroundings that have not changed at all since we began walking. Same cold, pale stone. Same puddles. Same dull lights.

Suddenly, Peeta mutters, "Finally. There it is."

All of us follow his line of sight. A dull grey metal door is revealed fifty yards ahead. "So what's behind door number one?" Finnick asks lightly. "Silk sheets on a king-sized mattress?"

"No."

"I'll settle for cotton."

No one bothers to reply to his silly antics. Instead, Johanna yanks open the door and we all file inside. It's a small, cramped space, but it will suit our needs just fine. As I take in the supplies around me, it appears to be some sort of storage locker. Various supplies litter the metal shelves that surround three sides of the room. I glance over them quickly, wondering if there's anything we can use. There's some rope. Some chemicals that I don't know the name of, but warn you to keep away from flame. Some sort of electrical cord. Random odds and ends.

"We'll rest here," Peeta declares. "We're maybe half an hour's walk from the entrance to the dungeons. Grab some shuteye if you can."

That's all Johanna needs to hear. She plops down on the dirty floor and leans against the wall, immediately allowing her eyes to close. Finnick sits down beside her. "He going to be okay?" he asks, gesturing toward Rye.

"Don't you worry, Pretty Boy," Rye mutters. "I'm going to be just fine."

"How do you feel, Rye?" I ask concerned, but he merely smiles.

"Saint-like." I frown in confusion. "Get it, sweetcheeks?" he chuckles slightly. "I'm _holey_."

Peeta rolls his eyes at the bad joke. "He's fine."

Despite Peeta's declaration, I still gently peel back the makeshift bandage. The bleeding has stopped, but I'm worried about infection. A sewer is the very last place he needs to be. "Try to get some sleep," I tell Rye softly.

At my order, Rye's eyes immediately flutter closed.

After checking him over one last time, noting that his pulse is a little slow but steady and that he doesn't have a fever, I allow myself to sink to the floor heavily. Only now am I beginning to feel the pains of today. The early morning wakeup call. The six hour hike. Shooting the propos. The firefight. Walking for the past two or three hours.

My bones feel like lead.

Peeta sits down beside me, and I curl into his side, resting my head on his chest as his arm wraps around me to pull me closer. I close my eyes, soaking up the feeling of safety his embrace provides. I feel his lips in my hair.

"That was one of the stupidest things you've ever done," he tells me before glancing over at Rye. "And I'll never be able to thank you enough."

I flash him a mischievous smile that he can barely see in the dark. "You could always try."

Peeta chuckles, but he quickly sobers. "Seriously, Katniss. Thank you. He's the only family I've got left, aside from you and Lilly."

I frown as I think of how Peeta lost all of his family, with the exception of Rye, to the bombings of District 12. "You miss them," I whisper knowingly.

"Every day." Peeta sighs deeply. "I wish that Dad could have lived to see Lilly born. I wish that Chris was still around to keep everything going smoothly. Hell, I even wish my mom was still around. She might not have been the best person, but she didn't deserve to die."

We're silent for a few minutes, and though my eyes are closed and my breathing slow and even, Peeta still knows that I'm not asleep. "You need to rest," he says softly.

I know that he's right. Even a quick hour of sleep would do wonders for me, I know from experience. I glance around the darkness of the storage locker and take in the events of the day. It reminds of the Games. The firefight. Mitchell trying to kill me. Peeta saving me. And now we've sought refuge in an underground tunnel, huddled away in a small room for some brief respite.

I'm in the arena. Again.

"I just want to get this over with," I tell him honestly, a tint of anger coloring my tone. "Let's kill Snow, get rid of Coin, and go home."

"We will," Peeta assures me. "I promise."

I must have managed to fall asleep, because I startle into consciousness sometime later. Quickly, my eyes scan the room, searching for what forced me from my slumber. Finnick and Johanna are still asleep. Rye is out cold. Peeta is mumbling slightly, but remains trapped in unconsciousness. Maybe it's nothing.

That's when I hear the whispers. They're not normal whispers from normal voices. The whispers are more like a hiss, like the sound a snake makes as it slithers through the grass, unbeknownst to those who hardly ever think to watch where they step. That, of course, is when the snake will strike. Just when you think you're safe.

The hissing continues, but for some reason I can't seem to move. I can only listen as the hissing grows louder. Closer. The hissing has a meaning. They're saying something. They're calling to me. "_Katniss_."

"Everyone get up!" I whisper heatedly, not wanting to alert whatever enemy awaits us. "Get up! Up!"

Finnick and Johanna jump to their feet, automatically awake—reflexes gained by the arena. Peeta is already helping Rye to his feet. I'm loading an arrow into my bow. "What is it?" Finnick asks sharply.

"Listen," I tell them and all fall silent.

The hissing whispers slither through the air hauntingly. "_Katniss_. _Katniss_. _Katniss_."

"Someone must have seen us," Johanna growls. "Someone knows we're down here."

"We've got to make for the dungeons," Peeta says sharply.

Johanna's eyes narrow in determination. "Get ready to run."

"What happens when whatever-it-is sees us?" Rye asks.

"You run faster."

And with Johanna's inspiring words, Finnick yanks open the door, not bothering with stealth and leaps out of the doorway, immediately opening fire on whatever is coming. Horrible, screeching cries ring through the tunnel, echoing loudly off the stone walls. Johanna and I run out to provide more cover fire, while Peeta and Rye begin hobbling down the tunnel.

That's when I get my first look at the monsters chasing us. Eerily glowing green scales reflect dully off the faint light. Razor sharp, black talons scrap loudly against the stone floor as they run after us. The muttattions look like a giant ugly lizard procreated with an equally hideous bird. Their large, serpentine heads tower six feet over ours when standing on their muscular, bird-like legs. Heavy wings flap haphazardly, creating giant blasts of wind that threaten to blow all of us off our feet. Their blood red eyes are full of malice. They were created for one purpose only: to kill me.

I utilize my exploding arrows, trying to shoot them where more than one lizardbird will be hit, but they're simply too big and built too tough. The small, compact explosions of my arrows will blow one of their feet but after shaking it's snake-like head it'll be on its feet chasing us once more. I change tactics and aim for their large, glowing red eyes.

Suddenly, a pained cry echoes through the air, and I see Finnick fall. Before the creature can finish him off, I fire my arrow straight into its eye. The ensuing explosion causes bloody brain matter to spray us all, but nonetheless, Finnick manages to scramble to his feet and resume running.

Somewhere along the line, Peeta simply threw Rye over his shoulder so he could move faster. However, Rye is not down for the count. He holds his gun in his hands, firing bullets at the evil creatures that hunt us. He's the only one firing though. Johanna, Finnick, and I are running out of ammunition. I'm down to only ten arrows, and they only have one more round of bullets.

There are still ten heinous creatures chasing us.

"How much farther?!" Finnick yells, stumbling slightly. Blood pours from a long, deep cut on his face, stretching from his temple down to the curve of his jaw. He can hardly see three feet in front of him due to the red that's literally obscuring his vision.

"Just another minute!" Peeta hollers back. "We'll make it!"

All of us manage to find a second wind, bursting forward faster than we've ever done before. But it's not enough. I hear the heavy beating of the creature's wings as they try to fly in the enclosed space. The scrape of their talons against the stone. Their angry, bloodthirsty screeches. They're gaining on us.

I turn around and fire another arrow, hitting one in the knee, causing it to tumble forward and trip up a few of its cohorts. I bought us time, but only a little. No more than thirty seconds. We have to reach the end of the tunnel.

"There!" Peeta suddenly shouts and we all see a rusted, metal ladder in the distance, leading up to the ceiling where another manhole will lead us into the dungeons.

Peeta reaches the ladder first, leaping onto the rungs, despite the extra weight of Rye. All of us stop about twenty yards away to provide cover fire. Finnick and Johanna shower the creatures with bullets. Some of them fall, but six more still remain.

Suddenly, Finnick's gun stops shooting. "I'm out!" he cries.

"Go!" Johanna yells. "We're right behind you!"

I know it kills him to do it, but Finnick turns and quickly begins to climb the ladder. Johanna and I continue firing upon the creatures, but they're jumping around the confined spaces of the tunnel, making it hard to fire a sure shot. They're getting smarter. Johanna focuses on a group of lizardbirds to her right, protecting the ladder.

"Katniss, go!" she screams as one of the creatures screeches in agony at the bloody hole in its heart. "Go!"

"I'm not leaving you!"

"Now is not the time to be stupid and noble, brainless!"

"You're my friend!" I shout angrily as I fire another arrow. "I'm not leaving you!"

Johanna glares at me. "Damn it, Katniss! Go! One of us has to die, and it's not going to be you! You've got that ridiculously adorable baby girl that needs you! What do I have to lose?"

"Haymitch! Finnick! Peeta!" I cry, trying to persuade her differently. She can't be doing what I think she is. "Come on, we can do this!"

"Some battles you can't win!" Johanna glances at me, her eyes filled with resignation. "Let me do this!"

Tears fill my eyes. "Johanna!"

"Katniss, go!" Johanna locks in her final magazine clip and resumes firing. "Just promise me one thing!"

"Anything!"

"You make sure that old bastard dies! Kill him, and I'll die with a smile on my face!"

"I promise!"

"Great! Now get your ass out of here!"

I fire one last arrow and then turn around for the ladder. Tears fall down my cheeks as I quickly climb the rungs of the ladder, a black talon cutting the stone not two feet from me. I keep climbing. I hear Johanna's voice down below me. She sounds as though she's running away, trying to draw their attention away from me.

"Hey! Come on, you scaly sons of bitches! Fresh meat right here!"

A sob escapes my throat when all the muttattions immediately answer her call.

Suddenly, a hand reaches down to me. I grab it without thinking. Then I'm hauled up through the hole. Peeta, Finnick, and Rye are all crowded around the opening, and the moment I'm on the ground next to them, I hide my face in Peeta's chest. "Close it," I whisper.

"No!" Finnick protests. "Not without Jo!"

I shake my head. "Close it. It's what she wanted."

"I'm going down there," Finnick declares, but Rye grabs him before he can lower himself back down.

"There's no helping her," Rye says sadly. "Let her be the hero she is."

We're all quiet for a moment as Rye's words sink in. For a few seconds, all of us allow ourselves to mourn the loss of our friend. Then, in a gesture that symbolizes much more than it would appear, Peeta slides the metal cover over the hole. Sealing Johanna's fate.

He looks at us all in turn, his eyes radiating a deadly, vengeful gleam that I've never seen. This is the dark side of him that I knew was lurking beneath the surface. The side that thirsted for revenge. For death. It scares me, but I don't flinch. I allow his anger to feed my own. Fury over all of Snow's injustices fills me; Johanna's death now added to his list of sins.

He will pay.

"Let's go," Peeta says coldly. "Stay quiet. Follow me."

Silently, Peeta begins to lead us through the Capitol dungeons. Unable to help myself, I take in everything around me. Everything that was Peeta's life for nearly two months. The dungeons are not like those in District 13, with white walls and floors and bright red doors leading into the cells. These floors are made of black stone. Stained, grey brick makes up the walls. Some of the stains are brighter than others. The walls are stained with blood.

We pass steel doors on either side, each of them bearing a single black number. The only light available is provided by single bulbs dangling every few feet from the ceiling. For the first minute or so, it's completely silent. Deathly silent.

And then we hear a scream. I immediately want to cover my ears as the scream continues. It's a horrid sound, guttural and pained. A wounded animal crying out for help as it stands upon the brink of death. All of us tense, Peeta especially so. I notice a tremble in his hands. Beads of sweat on the back of his neck.

No. No, no, no, not now!

I take his hand in mine. Immediately, his grip on my fingers is painfully tight, but I pay it no mind. Slowly, cautiously, I move until I'm in front of him. That's when I see his eyes. His eyes are wild with fury, and yet glazed over in a look I know all too well. Flashback. I flinch as another scream splices through the air, a gurgling sound its echo. Peeta's grip threatens to break my hand.

"Peeta," I call softly. With my free hand I touch his face. His eyes find mine. "You're with me. You're fine. You were rescued. You healed. Remember Lilly. She's waiting for us." I stare into his eyes, firmly holding his gaze so he can see the truth in my words. "Remember."

Suddenly, Peeta blinks and he relaxes just slightly. His grip on my hand lessens dramatically, and I fight not to show the pain as my blood rushes through my hand. I hold Peeta's gaze a moment longer. "Good?"

"Good. Let's go."

Peeta resumes walking. The screams seem to have lost their immediate effect on him. He moves stealthily, in a way that I would have thought him completely incapable before his torture. His feet don't make a sound against the stone floor. Not even a scuffle.

When we reach a corner, Peeta raises a hand, signaling us to stop. He presses himself up against the wall and we do the same. For a moment, I'm confused as to why we haven't continued, but then I hear the thud of boots on stone. Someone is coming, a guard. Peeta knows their patrols and shifts by heart. He's waiting.

I'm staring at the floor just around the corner of the wall. The toe of a black boot steps into view. My eyes dart up just in time to see the Peacekeeper turn the corner, and that's when Peeta strikes. He moves faster than I've ever seen. Before the Peacekeeper can even begin to understand what's happening, Peeta has grabbed the man's head. Then, with a sharp, quick twist, Peeta snaps the man's neck.

He catches the limp body before it can hit the floor and quietly drags the dead Peacekeeper out of sight behind the wall. Then, he finally makes eye contact with us. He barely takes note of Rye and Finnick's slightly shocked expressions. His gaze rests unblinkingly on mine, almost like he's daring me to condemn him for the murder he just committed.

I merely take his hand. Acceptance. I knew that he would seek revenge. I had accepted that fact long ago. So had he. I'm not saying that a part of me isn't terrified of the man before me, but I still love him.

Wordlessly, we move on.

We only meet one other guard on our way out of the dungeons, and Peeta quickly disposes of him as he did the previous guard. It might be my imagination, but I swear I saw a flash of recognition in the guard's eyes before Peeta ended his life. He must have been one of Peeta's "interrogators."

In that case, I'm glad he's dead.

Suddenly, Peeta turns back to us. "Okay, we're about to get out of here. Right through the door is a group of stairs that lead up to the ground level. If they haven't created a new shift schedule, there will be two armed Peacekeepers guarding the door outside. We'll have to be quick. Finnick, you take the guy on the right. I'll take the guy on the left. Katniss, Rye, you head straight down the hallway to the elevator. You know what to do." I nod sharply, remembering Peeta's instructions verbatim in my head due to the hundreds of times we've discussed this plan.

We reach the stairs and Finnick moves to the front of the group so that he's on Peeta's right. Rye and I hang back the moment we reach the top of the stairs. Peeta's hand grips the doorknob, ready to jerk the door open any moment. I watch as he soundlessly mouths a countdown from three, and then suddenly he wrenches the door open. Finnick immediately darts to the right, while Peeta attacks the guard on the left.

But Rye and I are already sprinting down the hall. The gold doors of President Snow's personal elevator gleam brightly, as if they'd just been polished. It's exactly like Peeta's sketch. That's what his second sketchbook, the one he never let me see, is filled with—drawings of the inside of the Capitol mansion. All of us memorized them over the past three weeks.

I search to my right and immediately find the keypad. There's an eleven digit code that changes every day, but on a pattern. Peeta, in his many visits to President Snow's office, memorized both the pattern and the codes. Today's code, ironically enough, is HUNGERGAMES.

Quickly, I punch in the code, praying that Peeta is correct.

The doors open.

Rye and I immediately step inside, blocking the doors so that they won't close. Peeta and Finnick run silently down the hallway. Behind them, the door to the dungeons stands unguarded. The two Peacekeepers—now dead—are stuffed in a closet to the right.

The moment Finnick and Peeta pass through the doors, I step back and allow them to close. Peeta and Finnick are breathing heavily do to the sprint down the hall and the scuffle with the guards. I note a cut under Peeta's eye. One guard must have gotten in a hit.

Everyone is completely silent as the elevator takes us up to President Snow's floor. He has the entire upper floor to himself, the penthouse, and if Peeta's sketches are anything to do by, it's the epitome of Capitol extravagance. Personally, I don't really care. All that matters is watching him die.

Finally, the doors open, revealing the foyer. Black and white marble tile covers the floor. Then, a circular step leads down into the living area. The soft sound of running water tinkles softly from the large water feature in the middle of the room; a three tiered waterfall that empties into a small pond filled with bright orange, yellow, and white fish. Plush purple sofas with bright white pillows sit on either side of the pond, dominating the room. Large, marble columns dot the floor, acting as gateways into the various sections of the room. Vases of noxious roses litter the room, though tastefully done.

I hate it.

Peeta turns to Finnick and Rye. "Guard the door."

Finnick and Rye nod silently, and without another word Peeta takes my hand and leads me through the living area. Our footsteps are silent as we glide over the marble floor. Peeta steers us down a wide, picture frame-lined hallway. Crystal chandeliers twinkling with gold hang every few feet, bathing the hallway with glowing light. But I'm hardly focused on the refracting rainbows of light. My gaze rests on the large mahogany door at the end of the hallway.

There's a moment of hesitation when we finally reach the door. Peeta's hand rests on the crystal doorknob. His eyes find mine. "Ready?" he whispers.

I feel my eyes harden. "Ready."

And then Peeta throws open the door.

It's comical, how President Snow doesn't even jump at our appearance. He sits behind his intricately carved wooden desk, leaning back resignedly in a high, leatherback chair. His fingers form a steeple in front of him as his eyes study us coldly, but with a hint of sadistic amusement.

"Ah, the Mockingjays," he says with a smile, as if we're old friends. "What a wonderful treat. Please, sit."

He makes it sound as though it's a request, but I hear the command in his words. This time last year, I would have done as he said. But that was last year.

Neither Peeta nor I move.

President Snow clucks his tongue in disapproval. "I must say, Katniss, you have given me quite the headache over the past two years. Why can't you just die like everyone else?"

"Just stubborn, I guess," I reply coldly.

"And Peeta!" Peeta stiffens slightly as President Snow rises from his chair and slowly walks in front of his desk. "You certainly look better. Last time I saw you, you weren't looking your best."

"Funny how that happened," Peeta replies sarcastically.

President Snow smiles. "Oh, yes. I found it quite . . . amusing. You just couldn't betray our Girl on Fire, could you? Why? Oh, that's right. _Love_."

"And you now have a product of that love, do you not?" he continues with a smile. "How is the child of the lovers of District 12? I can just imagine the possibilities! Tell me; is it a boy or a girl?"

Peeta or I one must have showed some recognition because his eyes brighten. "Ah, a little girl!" His eyes find Peeta. "She must have you wrapped around her finger. I hear fathers are hopeless against their daughters." Peeta remains silent, much to Snow's irritation. "Come now, Peeta! You were much more talkative last time you were here."

"I don't have much to say."

I notice that Snow seems to be much more interested in Peeta than me as they continue to spout retorts back and forth. It might seem arrogant, but I thought for sure that I would be Snow's first target, but it appears that he has taken a liking to Peeta. I mean that in the worst way possible. He finds Peeta more interesting. Perhaps it's because he knows he's responsible for how broken he left Peeta. And the fact that Peeta has returned, like a spurned hero, showing no obvious sign of the horror Snow inflicted irritates him. Peeta is interesting.

I am not. It's fairly obvious by the way he mentioned Lilly, nearly ignoring me completely and focusing on Peeta's attachment to her, that I am not of consequence anymore. I've become normal. I'm a mother like everyone else. I'm boring.

But Peeta . . . a phoenix risen from the ashes . . . he is not boring.

"What do you say we play a game?" Snow asks suddenly with a smile. "Or perhaps finish the one we started? I haven't moved a single piece. You have my word."

Peeta's eyes narrow. "Your word means nothing."

"Oh, I think we can agree that words are, in fact, quite powerful," Snow counters. He takes a seat across from a small, square table. A chess board rests atop it, the pieces of each side scattered about the checkered squares. "Please, Peeta. Let's finish this."

Peeta glances at me and then back at the board.

"You didn't tell her about our little chats?" President Snow asks, seeming hurt by Peeta's silence. Snow turns to me. "You see, Katniss. Your husband and I got to know each other quite well during his time here. When he wasn't otherwise occupied, I would bring him up for a game. He's quite the chess player, did you know?"

"He's never lost."

"Neither have I. Isn't it exciting? This is more than just chess. More than a simple game. Chess is life." He gestures to the board. "For instance, we have our pawns. People who are expendable . . . but sometimes they may surprise you. Like yourself." Snow's eyes land on Peeta. "Of course, then we have our knights. Valiant. Brave. Noble. The soldiers. But, as history will show, all great warriors fall to the King."

"Which is you."

Snow's smile is wide and grotesque. For the first time I see the blood staining his teeth, covering his tongue. I resist the urge to vomit. "Yes. I am King."

"All kingdoms fall," Peeta says as he sits down opposite Snow. "If I remember correctly, it's your move."

"Right," Snow says, glancing at the board. Suddenly, after a moment, he looks up at me. "Do come closer Katniss. Watch your king fall."

My king being Peeta. I resist a shudder. In many ways, we're carrying on two conversations at the same time. On the surface, you think they're speaking about chess. But in Snow's mind it's much more than a game. Chess, like he said, is life. The pieces are people. He rules over them all. And we are his opponent. He is trying to destroy us.

"Tell me," Snow says slowly as he stares at the board. "What do you think will happen if the Rebels win the war? Do you honestly think you can retreat back to your precious District 12? Fade away from the scene?" He makes his move.

Peeta studies the board. "Hardly. But hey, if you're dead, I'll sleep easier at night."

Snow chuckles. "I've changed you," he says, a hint of victory in his voice. "You have darkness in you."

"We all have darkness," Peeta replies as he makes his move. "Good and bad. Light and dark. All that matters is what we choose to act on."

"So wise for one so young."

"So foolish for one so powerful."

"Foolish?" Snow raises his eyebrows, moving a bishop forward. "How so?"

"You believe power comes from elevating yourself over others. That exerting your will upon them gives you power. That control gives you nothing. Only fear."

"Fear is control."

"Fear is fear. Nothing else."

Peeta moves his knight.

"Are you saying you do not fear me?"

"I am saying that there are stronger emotions that overcome fear. It's what fuels the rebellion. It's why District 11 sent Katniss the bread in the arena. It's why she saved my life. It's why I saved hers. It's why I allowed myself to be tortured."

Snow eyes have narrowed dangerously. "And what is greater than fear?" He moves his queen forward. "Check."

Peeta suddenly smiles. "Love." He moves a single pawn. "Checkmate."

A tense silence envelops the room as Snow stares at the board expressionlessly. I watch as his eyes rove over every piece, looking for a way to prove Peeta wrong. Slowly, his eyes fill with rage as he sees his world crumble around him. As he learns that he is no longer king. He no longer has control. Not over me. Not over Peeta. Not over Panem.

President Snow is nothing.

"You can never defeat what you don't understand," Peeta says evenly as he gets to his feet. He takes my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. "Game over, Snow. You lost."

"No!" Snow suddenly shouts, making me jump. In one swift move, he swipes the board off the table, sending pieces scattering throughout the room. "No! I may have lost, but you will die as well!"

"Not today," I reply coldly, taking a bold step forward. "The Rebels are entering the city. You can hear them in the streets!" It's true. Now that I pointed it out, everyone pauses to hear the sound of gunfire blasting through the streets. Shouts and screams from the people below. "Do you hear them? We won't be slaves again! Your time is up!"

"Tick, tock."

President Snow's reply takes me off guard. Immediately, I'm thrown back into the arena of the Quell. It was a clock. Each hour bringing a new horror. A toxic gas. Malicious monkeys. Blood rain. The wave. The jabberjays.

"What do you mean?" I ask suspiciously.

"Tick, tock. My time may be up, but you will die as well. Tick, tock."

And that's when I hear it. A ticking noise. Immediately, I know what Snow is trying to do. What he is planning to do. I yank Peeta's hand. "We've got to get out of here!" I yell at him, ignoring Snow's maniacal, crazed laughter behind us.

Peeta follows me without question and as we dash through his penthouse, we can hear Snow yelling. "You will die! You will all die! Everyone will die! Tick, tock, Mockingjays! Tick, tock!"

When Rye and Finnick come into view, Finnick immediately presses the button for the elevator. We all pile in, and the doors immediately close. We begin to descend, though Peeta makes it stop on the next floor down. We dart to the stairwell.

We're running down the hall when Rye asks, "Why are we running?!"

And that's when the penthouse explodes.

* * *

**Another cliffy! Oh, how I love them.**

**Summary time!**

**Peeta has finally reached ultimate badass status; Katniss is Katniss the Lizardbird Slayer; Rye keeps asking questions; Finnick is now Scarface; Johanna went out in a blaze of glory; and Snow put A LOT of metal in the microwave . . . **

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Gale!  
**

**"I'm sorry."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	26. Until the End

**A/N: Eeeeeeppppp! It's the final chapter, guys! Well, technically it's not. We still have the epilogue, but you guys know what I mean! First off, I have to give a HUGE shout-out to all of my lovely reviewers. I mean, we're nearing 1500, and that, my dear readers, is absolutely freaking awesome.**

**So . . . this chapter . . . yeah, I'm pretty sure all of you will hunt me down and kill me. Violently. With great zest.**

**Worried, yet?**

***cackles evilly***

******************************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

******************************************Katniss: Oh my god . . .**

******************************************Peeta: Oh my god . . .**

******************************************Rye: Oh. My. God.**

******************************************Haymitch: You've got to be kidding.**

******************************************Me: Nope. That's really how it ends.**

******************************************Katniss: . . . oh my god . . . you've got to be kidding me.**

* * *

Chapter 26: Until the End

_Why give up? Why give in?_

_It's not enough, it never is_

_But I will go on until the end_

* * *

I wake up in the hospital with one hell of a headache.

Chaos echoes all around me, provoking the dull throbbing in my skull to become a horrendous pounding. There is simply too much noise. Hurried voices. Wheeled gurneys. Moans of pain. Cries of agony. And yet, out of all the sound resounding in my mind, threatening to make my head explode, I am able to hear a single soft voice above everything else.

I turn my head and see Peeta sitting by my bedside looking ragged, but alive. His blonde hair is coated in dust and dirt. His complexion is sprinkled with black ash and smoke. His clothes are torn and bloody, but he seems okay for the most part. He takes my hand. "This is becoming too common an occurrence," he says with a small smile. "We need to stop meeting up like this."

I laugh tiredly. "Your fault."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, looking guilty. "I shouldn't have let him get to me. I should have just killed him."

"No," I shake my head, ignoring the dizziness the action induces. "I'm glad you beat him. I'm glad he lost. I think that means far more than ending his life yourself."

"Well, we don't have to worry about him anymore," Peeta says seriously. "He's gone."

"How are Rye and Finnick?" I ask, suddenly remembering that both of them were injured. "Are they okay?"

"Rye is fine," Peeta answers with an eye roll. "Complaining to every pretty nurse that will listen to him and still telling the worst jokes."

A knot of worry forms in my stomach. "What about Finnick?"

"He'll be okay," Peeta assures me. "But it was a nasty cut he got from those things in the tunnel. It'll scar." He chuckles slightly. "He's trying reassure himself that he's still prettier than everyone else. He says it gives him character."

I roll my eyes. That would be Finnick.

"So we're all okay?" I ask and Peeta nods. "Where's Lilly?"

Peeta suddenly smiles, looking over my shoulder at something behind me. "She's right here."

Haymitch walks in holding Lilly. The moment she sees me her eyes light up and immediately she's struggling to escape Haymitch's hold. I ignore my sore muscles that protest when I sit up and reach out for her. The moment she's in my arms, the greatest joy rushes through me.

"Hi, little girl," I say with a bright smile, and Lilly squeals in delight at the sound of my voice. "I missed you so much." I turn her slightly in my arms. "Say 'hi' to daddy!"

The grin on Peeta's face is blinding. His eyes are shining with compassion and love. Gently, he takes Lilly into his arms and holds her up in front of him. "Hey, sunshine," he chuckles at the big, slobbery smile on Lilly's face. "Miss me? I missed you." Lilly squeals with laughter again as Peeta peppers her face with kisses.

He's so gentle with her, his hands light and soft. It's hard to believe that only hours ago those very same hands mercilessly ended the lives of three people.

"Doc said that she was a little fussy, but was okay overall," Haymitch says, interrupting our family moment. "Riley's around here somewhere. Or maybe she's out there searching for bodies."

"What?" I frown.

"Happened while you two were out," he explains. "Right after Snow blew himself up, not two minutes later bombs were dropped on the front lawn of the mansion. There were hundreds of Capitol citizens trying to seek refuge from the Rebels. But, after the first set of bombs went off, a second wave dropped a few minutes later. Dozens of medics were killed or injured trying to help casualties when the second set dropped."

"We've got another one!"

A gurney rolls in, bringing the smell of burnt flesh into the medical bay. I notice Lieutenant Caine walking alongside the gurney, looking concerned. My stomach drops when I see a flash of blonde hair on the wheeled bed. I know without getting a better look that it's Prim. Without a thought, I'm leaping off the tiny hospital bed and rushing to the gurney.

"Prim!"

That's when I see her. Her face is smeared with blood and ash. Her skin is red and blistered. But it's the sight of her arm that causes me to gasp and makes bile rise in my throat. The skin almost appears to be melted. I can see bone surrounded by black, dead tissue. Blood stains the white cloth of the gurney. The smell of burnt flesh reeks in the air.

"Ma'am, step away from the gurney," one of the doctors orders me. "We have to take her into surgery."

I don't pay attention to him. All I see his Prim's angelic, bloodstained, ashen face. Her eyes are closed. She's deathly still. "Prim! Wake up! Prim!"

Suddenly, her eyes flicker open. She searches the room dazedly for my voice. "Prim!" I cry in relief. "Prim, you're going to be okay. You're going to be fine."

"Gale," she whispers hoarsely. "Where's Gale?"

The doctor takes my arm, forcing me to look at him. "I'm sorry, Miss, but if you want her to live we need to take her now."

He drops my arm and immediately they're rushing Prim toward a pair of swinging double doors, shouting about blood pressure and heart rates. I stare at the door uncomprehendingly. My mind can hardly process what I just saw. Prim is hurt. She could die.

And what about Gale?

I jump when I feel hands on my shoulders. "Hey, easy," Peeta soothes. "You're okay."

At the sound of his voice, I immediately turn around and throw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. I feel numb. All the events of the day are beginning to run through my mind, everyone that we've lost. Johanna is dead. She sacrificed herself to save us. Snow is dead. He tried to take us with him. Finnick and Rye are injured. Prim is fighting for her life.

"She'll be fine," Peeta assures me softly. "She might not look it, but she's just as tough as you are. She'll pull through."

"What about Gale?" I ask confused. "What did she mean?"

"I think I can help with that."

Peeta and I turn to see Doctor Riley standing in front of us. She looks haggard. Her medic's uniform is stained with blood and ash. Her silvery hair, usually twisted into a neat bun, has fallen down and now brushes her shoulders. Her silver-rimmed glasses are askew, but her sharp hazel eyes are shining brightly in determination. She's still on the top of her game.

"I found both of them," she explains before amending. "Well, I can't take all the credit." She suddenly looks down at her feet and it's only then that I notice Maya. Her normally white fur is greased with black and grey, spotted with red. She looks unusually solemn. "Maya was searching the grounds nearby," Dr. Riley continues. "Led us right to them."

"How is Prim?" Peeta asks. I bite my lip to try and prevent a sob from escaping me. Peeta's arm tightens around my waist in response.

Dr. Riley's expression is grim. "She's severely injured and the burn on her arm is a nasty one. In surgery they'll see how much tissue they can save. If we're lucky, she'll be able to keep her arm. Now that we're in the Capitol, we have access to some phenomenal equipment. Best case scenario is that she keeps the arm, but loses some nerve function."

I fight back tears. "Worst case scenario?"

"She loses the arm. Or worse." Dr. Riley gives us an apologetic look. "There might be some internal damage that we don't know about yet. Honestly, she's lucky she's alive at all."

I nod, trying to keep myself together. "Okay. What about Gale?"

Dr. Riley hesitates, and the deep apology in her eyes says it all. "No," I deny her silent answer. I refuse to believe. "He's not—"

"He's still alive," she interrupts softly. "But . . . he won't last the night. There's nothing we can do, but try to ease the pain."

This is all too much. I can't possibly deal with all of this. I can't. Johanna is dead. Prim may lose her arm. And Gale . . .

He can't die.

"Where is he?" Peeta asks quietly.

"Down the hall," Dr. Riley motions toward her left. "First door on the right. Now, forgive me, but I have patients to see."

"Of course. Thank you," Peeta replies and Dr. Riley gives us both a sharp nod before walking briskly toward the incoming patients.

Haymitch comes up to us, holding Lilly in his arms. The sight of her bright face makes me want to cry. I want so badly to feel the happiness that enveloped me only moments ago when I held her in my arms. But I can't. I can't summon even a smidgen of lightness. A heavy weight threatens to pull me under the surface. I feel as though I've been tossed into the sea in a raging storm with no hope of swimming to shore. I'm drowning.

I can't breathe.

"Katniss," Peeta says sharply and I gasp, inhaling deeply. "Breathe."

"Me and the kid will take Lilly to the Training Center," Haymitch says solemnly. "We got our old floor back. We'll be there."

Without another word, Haymitch and Lilly disappear from the hospital. I'm glad. I don't want my daughter around so much pain and despair. She's too young to see death; even if I know she won't remember any of this when she's older.

"You should go with them," I tell Peeta, who has yet to leave my side. "Lilly needs you."

"So do you," he replies softly, tilting my face up so he can read my expression. I wonder what he sees. Red, puffy eyes filled with pain and grief. Tear-streaked cheeks. I hope I don't look as broken as I currently feel. "I'll be there for you. Just outside."

"I don't know if I can do this," I whisper. "I don't know if I can watch him die."

"If you don't go, you'll regret it for the rest of your life," Peeta says knowingly. "Katniss, he's your best friend."

I nod and summon all my courage. With a trembling hand, I lace Peeta's fingers with mine, and together we navigate the hospital hall, dodging frantic nurses and harried doctors. Everything is so chaotic. And yet, with each step closer to Gale's room, I feel myself become numb. It's almost as though I'm moving through a dream. It's not real.

It can't be real.

When we reach the door to Gale's room, Peeta stops. "I'll be right here."

I stare at the nondescript metal door as if it holds a danger I can't escape. In a way it does. I take a deep, shaky breath and raise a trembling hand to the door. Closing my eyes, I twist the handle and push open the door, stepping into the room.

Gale lies unrecognizable on the bed. His long, mussed black hair is gone, burnt pink and red skin in its place. His body seems swollen and red. Bandages that were once white mask his entire torso and the majority of both arms. The stench in the room is unbearable and brings tears to my eyes.

The room reeks of decay and death.

Slowly, I walk cautiously to the edge of the bed as if it is muttattion lying in wait. The chair next to him makes too much noise when it scrapes against the floor, almost making me jump as I take a seat. I would hold his hand, but the blackened tips of his fingers prevent me from doing so. The last thing I want to do is cause him more pain.

His eyes suddenly flicker open and he turns his head slightly toward me. I take comfort in the fact that his eyes are just as grey and bright as ever. "You came," he whispers hoarsely. "I didn't . . ." Gale pauses to gasp for air, short of breath. ". . . think you would."

"Then you're an idiot," I tell him with a teary smile.

Gale can't seem to make his facial muscles work, but I see the smile in his eyes. However, his smile is gone in the next second, a near frantic look in his eye. "Prim?"

"She's in surgery," I whisper. "Dr. Riley says she'll be okay."

It's not the complete truth, but I don't want him to have her possible death on his conscience. "You're the reason she's alive, aren't you?" I ask knowingly. I'd known the moment Dr. Riley said something. "You saved her."

"I tried." Suddenly, a raspy cough overcomes him and the obvious pain that the action causes makes tears fall from my eyes. After a moment, the fit seems to pass, but it takes Gale another five minutes before he can find the strength to speak again. "The bombs . . ." He shakes his head. "They were mine." Tears fill his eyes. "If she dies . . ." He sucks in a sharp breath. "It's my fault."

"No it's not," I shake my head furiously. "You're a hero."

"I'm sorry," he says, his tears finally spilling over. The clear water turns bloody as it rolls in rivulets down his cheeks. "I was so . . . angry. With you. Snow. Everyone. I missed . . ." Another coughing fit overcomes him and each piercing choke is like a punch to my gut. Once Gale has enough breath to continue, his agonized voice is a mere wheeze. "I missed so much. I wasn't . . . there . . . for you. I still . . . love you . . ."

"I wish I didn't hurt you," I sob. "I'm sorry."

"No . . . don't be." Gale swallows, gasping slightly. His breathing is too shallow. Too quick. He doesn't have much time. "It . . . would never . . . have worked. You . . . need . . . him."

"I need you too."

"Not in . . . the same way." Gale suddenly starts to hyperventilate. "Should . . . have . . . accepted it. Should have . . . been . . . your . . . friend . . ."

"You are my friend," I assure him quickly, wiping away my tears furiously. "You're my best friend, Gale Hawthorne." I choke on a sob as he struggles to breathe, although he refuses to break eye contact with me. It's almost as though I'm the only thing keeping him alive, like he's holding on just to be with me a few seconds longer. My tears fall faster when I realize that it's true, and I'm filled with the need to make sure that he knows how much I love him. Not in the way he wants, but he needs to know that he will always hold a special place in my heart. "You're my . . . my best friend," I repeat as a swallow another sob. "You taught me how to live. You taught me how to _survive, _and I couldn't have . . . I couldn't have . . ." My sobs escalate when I see his eyes flicker closed. "No, come on, Gale! Fight!"

His eyes flutter open, and he stares at me fuzzily, as if he can't see me but knows I'm with him. "It's okay, Katniss," he says. "I'm okay."

"You'll always be my best friend," I whisper in a choked, tear-filled voice. "You always will be. There's no one better."

At my words, Gale manages a slight smile, and in this moment all the pain vanishes. "You . . . aren't so bad . . . yourself . . . Catnip."

Gale takes one last shuddering breath and then falls still.

I simply stare at his deathly form. It's all I can do. Stare and try to comprehend the fact that Gale Hawthorne, my very first friend, my best friend, one of the few people who cared for me when no one else did, is dead. Tears fall unchecked down my cheeks as I feel something in my heart shatter. I don't know when Peeta enters the room. Vaguely, I note his hand on my shoulder. He pulls me to my feet and begins to lead me out of the room, but I can't leave Gale. I don't know the words I shout at Peeta. I don't know how many times I hit his chest as I fight the steely hold of his arms. I don't know what he says to try to soothe me. It doesn't matter. Because no matter what he says, Gale is still dead.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," Peeta whispers as he clutches me to him, despite the fact that I'm probably bruising his already sore chest with my fists. "I'm so sorry."

And that's when all the fight leaves me, and I collapse in grief.

Later that night, the Rebels are officially named the victors of the war. People say that this day marks the Day of Independence. I feel no joy at the announcement. While everyone celebrates, I remain in my bedroom on the 12th floor of the Training Center, the very same room where I spent my last night with Peeta before the Quell. The entire penthouse is almost like a second home.

If I'm not sitting in my bedroom or taking care of Lilly, I'm on the roof. It's completely unchanged. The bright blossoms of the many plants still bloom fully. They must have been genetically enhanced to survive colder weather. I sit in the garden, in the spot where Peeta and I had our picnic. Sometimes Peeta joins me and we sit in silence. I know that he wants me to talk, but I'm afraid the moment I open my mouth I'll cry. And I'm tired of crying.

So I remain in a state of limbo. It's as though all the life has been sucked out of me. The only time I'm able to work up even a hint of something other than grief is when I have Lilly with me. Peeta tries to reach me, but his soft words only make me cry. I don't know why. Perhaps it's because he's not the person I want to reassure me. I want Gale.

But he's dead.

Prim is still in critical condition in the burn wing. I sit with her every day. The doctors were able to save her arm, but it's too soon to tell how much function she will regain. They try to pretend otherwise, but I know that they don't think she'll be able to make a full recovery. I try to remain positive, but it's so difficult.

On the third day after the war is won, Dr. Riley informs me that they found my mother's body amongst the rubble. She appears to have died in the bombings that took Gale's life as well. At the news, I only retreat further into myself. It isn't like the news of her death causes me grief. No, my grief stems from the fact that I know I _should_ feel pain over her death. But I don't. Because, honestly, my mother has been dead to me for years. I simply grieve for the mother I could have had and lost.

I tell Prim about our mother that very same day. The news sends her into shock and she has to be sedated. The next time she wakes, she simply cries. I sit with her as she grieves, holding her uninjured hand. Prim hasn't spoken since I gave her the news.

Five more days pass. Through every hour of the day, as the week stretches on, I eventually feel my grief recede. Anger takes its place. Day after day, I feel the fire of my rage build within me, stoked by poisonous thoughts of Alma Coin. The bombs that took my mother and Gale were of Gale's design, but not of his doing. Coin gave the order. Coin is the reason that my best friend is dead. Coin is the reason that Prim is in the hospital. Coin is the reason for my pain.

"Katniss?"

Peeta comes to stand beside me. I'm on the roof again, staring out over the Capitol. Except, this time I'm not mesmerized by the twinkling lights and the sounds of the nightlife of the Capitol. All I see are wisps of smoke rising from burned buildings. Bloodstained streets. The Capitol no longer holds any grandeur. It's proven to be no different than any other city in Panem.

"You ready to talk, yet?" Peeta asks as he leans back against the railing so that he can see my face. "I'll listen."

"I know you would," I tell him honestly. "But there's nothing to talk about. Johanna is dead. Gale is dead. My mother. Prim is still in the hospital and will be for a long time. There's nothing I can do to change any of it. I couldn't save them."

"But you can avenge them," Peeta replies. "Talked to Haymitch earlier. We're celebrating the war's end tomorrow. You know what that means."

It means that tomorrow Alma Coin is going to die.

"I do." I finally look into his eyes. His blue eyes shine with determination and cold calculation. But the vengeful edge has vanished. Snow is dead. He's had his revenge. It's time I got mine. "I'll be ready."

"Katniss." I close my eyes at his soft caress of my name. "Let me in," he pleads softly. Gently, he pries my hands from the rails and pulls me to him. He cradles my face in his hands. "I love you. I need you. You've shut yourself off from everyone. Lilly is the only way you've been able to even attempt a smile. I know you're hurting, but let me help. Like you helped me."

"If I recall, you were very stubborn about accepting my help," I reply. "It took you months to open up."

"You're not me."

I stare at him for a long moment, taking in his earnest expression. His eyes are filled with a compelling light. I want to tell him. I want to scream at him every bit of anger that I feel. I want to cry and ask him why Gale and Johanna had to die. I want Prim to be perfectly fine and smiling. I want Johanna to be alive to crack a sarcastic insult. I want Gale to be alive so we could reconnect again. I want my mother to be alive so Prim will be happy. I want him to make everything okay again.

But Peeta can't fix this.

"You can't make anything different," I finally whisper pained. "There's nothing you can do to change what happened."

"I just want to see you happy again."

"After tomorrow it will be a lot easier to be happy. Are you ready?"

"Everything is in place," Peeta answers seriously. "Don't worry about it. Everything will go off without a hitch."

I nod before resting my forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around me protectively, securing me tightly to him. He rests his chin on the top of my head as his nimble fingers begin to massage my lower back in tiny circles. My eyes close and I sigh slightly, trying to calm myself as I hear the light beat of his heart. However, it isn't working like it normal would. Peeta's soothing fingers stop their motion when he feels me become even tenser than before. His arms release me slightly as he feels my breathing speed up due to my rage. I latch onto my fury with both hands, and let it's fire consume me. Fire is better than tears. Fire is power. And I know exactly what I want to do with this power. The words leave me fiercely, "I want to be the one to kill her."

"I won't stop you."

The next day everyone is on edge. Peeta and I are up early, once again placing Lilly in the care of Dr. Riley. We get ready in complete silence. The night before, Peeta, Haymitch, Finnick, Rye, and I had gone over the plan one final time. Due to his bullet wound, Rye can no longer be our driver. Finnick has to take the job, which means that he has to leave before any of us in order to knock out the driver, dawn his uniform, and take his place in the car. Rye is now our lookout.

I can only hope that everything went smoothly.

Haymitch, Peeta, and I arrive at President Coin's temporary apartment at promptly eight o' clock. The entire building has been taken over by District 13 higher-ups, the top floor having been transformed into a tentative Command center until other quarters can be found.

Even from blocks away, the sound of the cheering Rebel crowd already in place for the celebration resounds through the building. The streets are filled to the brim with people. Soldiers. Families. Children. Everyone is ecstatic that the war is won. They seem to have given little thought to who would assume power in Snow's absence.

Coin meets us in the lobby of the apartment building, her two personal bodyguards walking just slightly behind her on either side. I mentally size them up and decide that Peeta and Haymitch can take them down. Despite the fact that the men are bigger than both Peeta and Haymitch, my men still have the advantage. They're victors of the Hunger Games. When it comes to survival, we're unstoppable.

"Ah, Katniss, Peeta," she greets us with a disturbing smile. "How are you?"

"Glad it's over," Peeta replies genuinely. "I only wish some of our friends could have been here to see it all come to an end."

Coin frowns and tries her best to look apologetic. "Yes, I heard about Johanna Mason. Her sacrifice will be remembered and honored, I assure you." She suddenly turns to me. "And, Katniss, I'm terribly sorry about Soldier Hawthorne. He was a fantastic soldier."

"He was a hero," I reply evenly, although on the inside I'm fuming that she even dared to mention my best friend. "The world won't be the same without him."

"And your sister?" Coin continues. "How is she?"

"She'll be fine." It takes all my control not to lunge at her and just kill her now. Haymitch and Peeta would cover me. But I restrain my impulses. This has to be clean. We have a plan. We need to stick to it. So, I force myself to say, "Thank you for your concern."

Coin nods. "Of course." She takes a few steps toward us, stopping not two feet away. "I know that we didn't always agree," she says. "But you truly don't realize how critical you were to winning the war. You're the people's hope."

Which is exactly why you tried to kill us. And will again if we don't kill you first.

"Well," she says with a slight smile. "Let's get to the car, shall we? Don't want to be late."

We all walk out to the car, which is sleek and black and looks like it's been stretched. I hope that Finnick is driving. We all begin to pile into the car, but when Haymitch starts to enter the vehicle, Coin suddenly says, "Haymitch? Do you mind riding in the next car? I'd like to have a word with my Mockingjays."

There's a tense silence. I force myself to remain expressionless, but on the inside I'm panicking. Does she know? I want desperately to look at Peeta, to see what he thinks, but that would give us away. Instead, I start debating my chances against one of the 220 pound bodyguards and coming up with a plan of attack. Just in case.

Haymitch hardly reacts at all to Coin's request. To anyone else he seems merely annoyed, but I can see the concern in his eyes. He's worried, too. That's a bad sign.

"Of course," he replies, stepping out and backing away from the car. He makes eye contact with me and Peeta. "I'll see you two later."

And with that, Haymitch shuts the door.

However, before he vanishes from my sight, I see the shadows behind him move.

"Well, now that he's out of the way," Coin says the moment we start moving forward. "We can talk openly."

"About?" Peeta prompts, barely masking the tense quality of his voice.

"About killing you, of course," she replies and I curse fervently in my mind. "I must admit, the two of you are much harder to get rid of than I initially thought." Coin fixes her cold, grey eyes on Peeta. "I never expected you to last as long as you did in the Capitol torture chambers. You're one of the few who lasted more than a week. But nearly two months? I must say it's impressive."

"And you, Katniss," she continues. "You proved to be smarter than you look. But then again, I'm sure Abernathy warned you ahead of time of what could possibly happen should we win the war. The man's a thorn in my side, but he's brilliant. I'll give him that."

"So what now?" I ask, oddly calm. Maybe I'm getting too used to being on the verge of death. "What's your plan?"

"Plan?" Coin laughs. A cold, chilling sound. "Why think up a new plan when I can just use yours?"

Suddenly, the car stops and Peeta and I immediately try to make a break for it, but Coin's goons are expecting it. In the small confines of the car, I'm quickly overpowered. I simply don't have the strength. The guard grabs my hair and yanks me from the car.

I hear sounds of a scuffle inside the car. Peeta is putting up a fight. The glass of the back rear window shatters and suddenly Peeta tumbles out of the car, bleeding from a cut on his temple, but otherwise unscathed. He sees me still struggling with the guard and charges to my aid.

And then, quick as lightening, as if he had been lying in wait, another District 13 soldier appears out of nowhere. Before I can shout a warning, he slams the butt of his gun to Peeta's head, and I watch helplessly as he crumbles to the ground, groaning in pain.

I'm forced onto my knees by the guard, and he releases his grip on my hair. I'm about to try to spin around to kick him where the sun doesn't shine, but the feel of a cool metal barrel against the back of my skull causes me to freeze. I look to my right at Peeta, who is now on his knees three feet away. A gun is held to his head, too.

I hear the slight click of heels against pavement and look up to see Coin in front of us, looking incredibly smug. As if acting on some silent cue, five more soldiers step out of the shadows to surround us all. I close my eyes in defeat. Our only hope is Haymitch, but if the moving shadows that I saw behind him were District 13 soldiers, I know that more than likely, my mentor is dead.

"This really was a good plan," Coin says, looking at Peeta. "I imagine it was one of yours? You seem like a man who always has a plan."

Peeta just glares in response.

"But, you should be more careful as to who you share your plans with," she continues. "Can't have any loose lips."

She has a point. The only way she could have known of the plan was if someone told her. It couldn't have been me or Haymitch. That only leaves Johanna, Finnick, and Rye. My mind is instantly rejecting the idea. No. No. None of them would have betrayed us! It's not possible.

"Really, dear sweet Annie was all too helpful to tell all that she knew," Coin reveals with an evil smile and I realize what happened. Finnick told Annie. Coin got Annie to talk. How?

"What did you do to her?" I demand angrily.

"Oh, I hear people will do anything for love," Coin replies. "All I had to do was threaten Odair. She's an easy nut to crack. She told me everything. Really, the plan was brilliantly simple. I agree that Peeta and Abernathy could have overpowered my guards had we not been forewarned. And then of course, pulling into this alley . . . " She gestures to the narrow brick alley that surrounds us, easily masked from view unless you're looking directly at it. "A fantastic choice. You kill me. Fire a few bullets into the car. Make it look like an ambush of retaliating rogue Capitol forces. I'm impressed."

"I'll twist the story my own way, though," Coin says with a smile. "The violent attack on the President's car. The Mockingjays valiant attempt to protect their leader ends in tragedy. The nation will mourn your loss. You might even get a national holiday."

As I stare into Coin's eyes and take in the barren alley around us, I feel my heart sink. There's no help coming. Haymitch is probably dead. Finnick too, since he was obviously not driving the car. In reality, I can probably count Rye dead as well. If Coin knew about the plan, she must have known where he was stationed to be. I stare at the end of the alley in front of me. My eyes follow the fire escape up the wall to the roof of one of the buildings. The rooftop where Rye is supposed to be.

No one is there.

"You won't succeed," Peeta tells Coin angrily. "The people will revolt against you just as they did with Snow. Everyone knows a tyrant when they see one."

"Perhaps," Coin agrees. "But either way, Mr. Mellark, I'm afraid you won't be around to see it."

The conversation is coming to an end. Within the next few minutes, I will be dead. I look at Peeta and it's as if he senses my gaze. His eyes meet mine and I allow myself to get lost in them. They're so beautifully clear and blue, conveying so much emotion. His eyes are easy to read now. Regret. Acceptance. Sadness.

And love.

Tears fill my eyes. Coin is still talking, but I'm not paying attention to her. Neither is Peeta. I stare at him as he stares at me. The rest of the world fades away. It's just me and Peeta.

I tense at the sound of a gun cocking behind me. My eyes immediately look at the gun behind Peeta's head, its muzzle invisible in his curls.

"Katniss, look at me," Peeta says softly. "Look at me. It's going to be okay." My tears spill over when the gunman presses his muzzle tighter to Peeta's head, causing him to pitch forward slightly. "We're going to be okay. Say it."

"We're going to be okay," I whisper, tasting saltwater on my lips from my tears. "We're going to be okay."

". . . it's too bad dear Lilly will grow up without her parents. Don't worry, I'll tell her all about you."

Coin's mention of Lilly causes my tears to fall faster. My little girl. I'm so sorry, Lilly. I tried.

"Katniss, look at me!" Peeta's voice is more frantic. He knows we only have seconds left. "Look at me, beautiful. We're going to be okay."

"We're going to be okay," I repeat, fighting not to sob. "Peeta, I love you."

"I love you, too."

And then there's a moment where silence blankets the alley. Everything seems bright and clear. It's as if my eyes know it's the last time I'll ever be able to see the world around me, and so it's soaking up the image. I see Peeta in front of me, staring at me with a mix of love and pain reflected in his eyes. In my peripheral I see the red brick alley wall behind him. To my right is the black front bumper of the car. I can even see the dull reflection of the glass on the ground from the broken window. Strangely, in my last moment of life, I think it's beautiful.

Then the sound of gunfire echoes through the alley.

I'm so surprised that it takes me a moment to realize that the gun that went off was not the one pressed to the base of my skull. In fact, the cool metal is gone. Dazed, I stare at Peeta and see the guard that was holding him at gunpoint is lying on the ground. Dead.

The next minute is almost like a blur. It happens so fast. Peeta is suddenly diving for his captor's weapon and begins to fire upon the rest of the guards. I spin around to grab the gun from my own dead captor. Rye and Finnick have appeared out of nowhere, firing at the guards as well. Everyone has taken cover behind some form of protection from the bullets flying across the small confines of the alley.

Coin has momentarily disappeared in the midst of the action, but I don't focus on that at the moment. I dive behind a metal trash can, just as the _ting_ of a bullet glances off the surface. My eyes scan the alley for an enemy shooter. The moment one steps out of his shelter, I fire a round. The kick of the gun causes me to tumble backward slightly.

What I wouldn't give to have my bow.

I see two more guards fall, leaving three more plus Coin. I scan the alley. Finnick is safely behind the open front door of the car, firing through the space where the window used to be. Rye is positioned the same way except on the opposite side. Peeta is firing from a slight alcove along the alley wall. Probably the entrance to the backdoor of a shop.

Suddenly, I see a flash of grey hair dart across the alley. Coin is trying to escape toward the street ahead of us. Without thinking, I dart from my cover, giving chase. Finnick and Rye provide cover fire as I chase down Coin. As I'm running, I feel a flash of pain in my side, but I ignore it.

And then Haymitch appears at the mouth of the alley, almost as if he was waiting for Coin to flee.

His clothes are disheveled and slightly torn. He's bleeding from multiple cuts to his torso and arms. A purple bruise has already formed on his cheekbone and a trickle of blood from a cut above his eye leaves trails of red along his cheek. Yet he looks stronger than ever. Anger has given him strength. His grey eyes are filled with a nearly primal look. Lethal.

He stares at Coin and she stares back at him. The alley is completely silent. Her soldiers are dead. She's the only one left. Stupidly, she turns around to run back toward me. Without a word I raise my gun and she stops in her tracks. I hear Finnick, Rye, and Peeta come up beside me, their guns leveled at Coin.

"Nowhere to go," Haymitch says coldly as he stalks forward. Coin, in a last ditch attempt, tries to dart around him.

Only to run right into Haymitch's knife.

"No one hurts my kids," he growls in her ear. "Go to hell, bitch."

Haymitch releases his grip on the knife, and Coin's body slumps lifelessly to the ground.

For a moment, no one speaks. All of us simply stare at Coin's dead body. Her sightless eyes wide open, her expression one of shock.

_It's over, _I think. _It's finally over. We're safe._

"Well, it wasn't like we planned, but it worked out all right in the end," Rye says with a slight smile. "Let's go have a drink. If I remember correctly, there's still a party down the block."

"I could use a shot," Haymitch says, but then he looks at Coin. "We need to get some people down here first, though. Get the cover story out."

"Oh, yeah," Rye agrees. "Story time. Everyone, make sure to fully explain, in great detail, how awesome I am."

"Like you were any help," Finnick retorts. "You could shoot at your foot and still miss."

"Guys, just stick to the story we already came up with," Peeta says, still strictly serious.

Peeta is still talking, but for some reason, I can't hear him very clearly. My knees suddenly feel weak, my limbs heavy. A dizzy fog has settled in my brain. Is the ground moving beneath me? Why is everything turning upside down?

"Katniss, you okay?" Finnick asks. "You don't look so—oh, god! Katniss! You're bleeding!"

Almost in amazement, I press my hand to my stomach. Immediately, white hot pain races through my system at the touch. I pull my hand away and stare at the shiny red blood that coats my fingers.

"Someone shot me," I say, almost in wonder.

And then I collapse onto the ground. Voices chatter away in my brain. My vision begins to fade in and out. I'm able to distinguish one voice from all the others. His arms are the ones that have encircled me. Peeta.

"Katniss! Katniss, come on, stay with me!" he cries. I blink, trying to bring his face into focus. "Come on, beautiful, look at me!"

Blue eyes. Tear-filled blue eyes stare down at me. Begging me to stay. I want to tell him that, of course, I will stay. Slowly, his face comes into view. He's so handsome. Without thinking, I reach a hand up to touch his face. I marvel at the soft skin.

Suddenly, someone presses against my wound. The pain causes a cry to escape my lips and things become clearer.

"Peeta," I gasp in pain, black spots dancing around my vision.

"That a girl," he encourages, though his voice is trembling and thick with unshed tears. "Come on, Katniss. Look at me. It'll be okay. Haymitch is getting help. You'll be okay. You've got to be okay."

My vision is starting to fade again. Noises are becoming muffled. My eyes flutter closed.

"Damn it, Katniss! Stay with me!" Peeta's command forces my eyes to open. His tears have finally spilled over. He's sad. I don't want him to be sad. "Come on, beautiful. You can't leave me. Not now. Just keep your eyes open, okay? They're too pretty to be closed."

I want to listen to him, but the darkness is so inviting. It's peaceful. Painless.

"Katniss, please, don't leave me. I need you. Lilly needs you. You can't die."

Coldness begins to seep into my veins, but I find it soothing. It takes away the pain in my stomach.

"Please, please, Katniss . . . don't leave me. Don't leave me, please. You can't leave me. I love you too much. Come on, Katniss. Keep fighting. Don't give up!"

But the darkness . . . it's calling to me. I try to keep my gaze locked on Peeta. He's crying. I try to raise a hand to wipe away his tears, but I can't feel my arm. The coldness has taken it from me. The darkness is so tempting. It promises peace. That's all I want. Peace. Finally.

My eyes close.

"Katniss!"

A flash of pain.

"No! Please, beautiful, stay with me!"

And then nothing.

_End._

* * *

**Oh, yes I did.**

**That really just happened.**

**So! Um . . . yeah . . .**

**I only ask you guys to remember that you love me. Trust me. TRUST ME. Stick with me guys. You've come this far, don't quit on me now.**

**Summary Time!**

**Rye showed up dramatically in the last second to save the day, and together he and Finnick have become another dynamic duo; Prim is playing the quiet game while recovering from a very heated game of chicken; Haymitch IS the Godfather; Lilly is adorable; Peeta is inconsolable; Ding-Dong! The Witch is dead!; And so is Gale; And so is Johanna; And so is Mrs. Everdeen; and oh, yeah, as for Katniss, well, in the infamous words of one Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy, "She's dead Jim."**

**Quote from the epilogue comes from . . . Peeta!**

**"It's the only way I'll make it through the day."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	27. This Will Be (An Everlasting Love)

**A/N: Well, here we are, guys. The end of it all.**

**I have gotten many requests, threats, and pleas from you guys to continue this series with a post-Mockingjay installment. I am so incredibly grateful and honored that you guys would be willing to stick with me for another story, but, alas, as of this chapter, I am leaving fanfiction.**

**I posted the first chapter of my first fanfiction November of my sophomore year in high school at the age of 15. Here I am three years later, 18 years old (nearly 19!) posting my last chapter at the close of my first year of college. It's crazy to think how much you can change within those measly three years. In three years, I've made some wonderful friends. Friends I've never met and probably never will. That's you guys. The readers. The reviewers. You guys, you are a part of what makes writing such a joy for me. To know that people are waiting at their computers, all over the world, just to read a chapter of my story, is incredibly humbling (not to mention epic), and I will never coherently be able to convey the depth of my gratitude. These three years on fanfic, particularly while writing this series, has molded both myself and my writing in a way that I don't think I could have achieved any other way. It's you, the readers, that I owe. You guys kept me going, kept up the praise and the criticism, making me strive to continue to better my writing, and I will never be able to thank you enough.**

**As for me and what comes next? Well, as some of you know, I am working on my book, hopefully the first of a trilogy that will involve magic, heinous creatures, alternate dimensions, prophecies, an insane power-hungry sorceress, a rather famous warlock with a pointy hat, and none other than Rye! Well, he has a different name, of course. I'm tremendously excited to pursue this, my dream, and I hope to finish it over the summer and then start looking for publishers.**

**So, you may still read my writing in the future . . . you just won't know it's me!**

**Before we get to the epilogue, there are just a few people I have to thank. Some have been with me since the beginning, some have followed me through fandoms, some just tuned in last chapter, and I appreciate every single one of them. So, cheers to my reviewers! The least I can do is recognize you for the awesomeness that you possess: **

**nelly1coco, Amybooks, dazey186, Last-Catastrophe, crazyrawrx3, SpaztasticalMaiden13, MenaLovesPeeta, SakuraDrops141, Arri09, 3PeetaAndKatniss3, Texas-Devil-Or-Angel, i'mJayJay, sadiemayk13, MockingJay0221, Indigold10, sweetStarre123, , Loveable Leo, Mocking Verse, Skye Allison, BluebirdintheSnow, Mindmapped123, Clara Meliza, LoveHungerGamesJH, Dancinghld, Speeder9319, Empty Thoughts, peeta's girly, MockingJayWriter, luvTHG334, ShutterbugMom, mythoughtsareconstellations, vane-.-16, Lgwater27, Breathingbooks274, johanna2011, raghzy, Soccergirlx1810, Sangheili Mockingjay, streetlightlove, SkyStarVenus, LiveByDaWordz, lucypeckie, AlwaysToStay, Oh-My-Sherlock, jmjames, Abigail25, PMLover, Norbert's Mom, KatnissEverdeen, TitanNegro, schur655, HungerGamesLoverr, PAFSoeiro, Jenna Red, sasuhina gal, Naverra, XxMockingjay, CatchingPeeta, can'tgetenoughof23, Peetasmylife, Bemac, Hungergames101, Mooglez, PrincessRedfern,Critterwitter, Hevy135, OreoMonstah, kexc, penquin44, , SchoolGirl123, kami kyuubi sama, Hungergameslover04, FleurLilyDeclass, Stevie, skatergirl659, Moto2014, pudgeee12, ThgDaisy, Rawr, bresmommy92402, GirlOnFire1678, alwaysreading25, the7things, PeetaIsMine1232, Shygirl, Natara16, The optimistic lover, rayleen14, kayola15, MockingjayGirl13, Lady Slyth, GeorgiatheMockingjay, armygirl918, paxiel, rochay97, Everlark, ThereAreMuchWorseGamesToPlay, MayTheOddsBeEverInYourFavor, DontFeedTheDragon, Dreamstar48, katandwyagar, Natara16, lucypeckie, pyroseyes, LizMockingjay, can'tgetenoughof23, CatchingPeeta, slvrstarlight, gopha-gurl, llamajo, Abagail25, EMAG1213, , JustWannaBeAnonymous, melverdeenforever219, mrssherrange, PercabethFanatic, Cheypielaughs, Jhutch-is-amazing, i'mJayJay, Loueze, Breakingbooks247, Justfreezethemoment20, LoveHungerGamesJH, The Hare and the Otter, brittw2Ts, aileigh, KatnissofCamelot, Nope, Autumn Caramel, Hevy135, schrisham, Justfreezethemoment20, Gallagher girl1811, preshypie, katy, ClatoIsReal, Bohemian Anne, tricia22, Valerie3, jessiemarie48, Aileigh, RedAugust102, Reaper98, hungergamesfan77, lovegirl45, me, Precious R, Happy Jello, ncv144, Mrs. Peeta Mellark 97, Well the thing IS, Shan, INEEDMORE, HungryForPeeta, Random person in wonderland, shygirl, heycarmichael, Empty Thoughts, Alaee301, D-dey, WACKYROSE, THGFan3413, Kpopisawesome, Ellie, peetagoreantheorem12, Percabeth Fanatic, Sangheili Mockingjay, I'm a hamster with big cheeks, TowerOfEnvelopes, Amybooks, Jessie0275, KaaMM, Peregrinus, gopha-gurl, llamajo, , Nope, vane-.-16, mickeymouse12299, JuliaMindedx, lambtastic, AlanaWrites, Brilliant sparks, AlwaysForJC, person, SassMonster, Well the thing IS, bookreader9722, IWUnurse2013, LonesomeLullaby, nlamazing, JJK38, heyarenticool, Bertie Bishop, Sjemmott83, gulce, Elina, mrsmellark97, Fuzzylogic11, pearlwings, katty, LoveAlways, Dez, Shygirl, perdita4321, Peetasmylife, CheekyMonkeeeey, hgismylife379, JenniferVo, cutuptwo, Hevy135, Gallagher girl1811, Emag13, Ebony, i hate u, A Battle Inside My Heart, nlamazing, EZ11, Stevie, chucchuu, TheCatchingJay, , 15, BookLove, mrsodairmockingjay123, ncv144, Lilyannete, Loli-pop0394, aurora12345pm, JustinBiebersGal, wuteva4eva456, Alana, , PlainOldChels, Fantasydream17, Elina, shygirl, jessy0622, Mockingjay0221, ILove2Write13, storyfrikk, peeta74, GirlOnFire4Eva, BurntBreadAndShinyPearls, Panda-Crazy-19, lambtastic, TheDeathlyHallows-123, bettybops89, Amber Kay, MysteryRiddle, Stephanie, Really, Icestorm711, Hi, Jinx, mbogue99, the-true-mockingjay, Bagpuss7142, erin myers, Dick, Sjemmott83, Eagle-Eyes, Cici46, RedAugust102, kexc, maryclumsykatherine, fuzzysocksandwriting, The Forgotton Stark, Vibrator, S.A., Innocent-Youth, Katniss4Peeta, DeezNuts51, Chia, i4i, Va3442, JayxFeather, lovesreading, kikistimi, Heehee, MY MILKSHAKES, Claire, carcrash87, I love peeta, pumpkinking5, SammyMusicManiac, DivergentHalfBloodMaurader, Gulce, Safety-Hazard, Jen, Morkie251, ItsAllInYourHeadMyDear, Kylria, ME, PeetaRocks, spankleapords, RubanDePluie, TST, NeedAUserNameWhyNotZoidberg, crimp1, Sarah, pearlwings, Da Kid, anon, Chelhb, preshypie, PMLOVER, Alli-Loves-Glee, JenniferVo, lol, CheekyMonkeeeeey, StayingAlive223, Random reader, fanta, JJK38, Such, lovegirl45, Schweigen ist vergessen, MetaLizzie, Peeta's a stalker, imstillaliveafterall, maga, Dezzikins, TooLazyToLogIn, Willy's friend, Peeta M is mine, goodalld, dysirahsmith, LonesomeLullaby, Jennie, NeedStories, reesephinney, kanga, Hmmm, Lightning Eterna, emeraldgrey9722, Alaee301, pokips, harrypotternut91, mickeymouse12299, AlanaWrites, person, IWUnurse2013, Bertie Bishop, alileigh, Fuzzylogic11, Dez, BatGirlTheMockingjay13, crazyrawrx3, Maryshann, HungerGamesLover1234, Ava Dahlia, mbogue99, GetAwayUCreep, DeezNuts51, Random person in wonderland, SVGS, PeeOnCarl, we'reonfire, StillWaiting, RemainNameless, rosegniseb, sasuhina gal, .906, StoriesOfAnInsomniac, handsdowntoo, ACfan, littlehughesy, Wolfgal201, Cici46, Stefani Acosta, Zoologist, erin mellark, Stephanie, wacky rose, Latinoman117, fatlips, ShikenFreiRye, and, of course, all of my GUESTS.**

**And if I forgot anyone . . . shoot me, dismember me, set me on fire and dance manically around my smoking pyre . . . MY BAD. Seriously. I love you guys.**

**Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.**

**Me: (teary) Well guys, this is it.**

**Katniss: Hey! I'm still wondering whether I'm actually dead or not.**

**Peeta: Yeah, you weren't really too clear on that last chapter.**

**Rye: Seriously. Have a heart!**

**Me: Guys, I'll miss you.**

**Haymitch: Yeah, yeah, we will too. Now get on with the damn happy ending already.**

* * *

Epilogue: This Will Be (An Everlasting Love)

_I'm so glad he found me in time_

_And I'm so glad that he rectified my mind_

_This will be an everlasting love for me, oh_

_Loving you is some kind of wonderful_

_Because you've shown me just how much you care_

_You've given me the thrill of a lifetime_

_And made me believe you've got more thrills to spare, oh_

_You've brought a lot of sunshine into my life_

_You've filled me with happiness I never knew_

_You gave me more joy than I've ever dreamed of_

_And no one, no one can take the place of you_

* * *

Ten years ago today I died.

In fact, I was dead for nearly seven minutes. It took Peeta that long to restart my heart. Eventually, after nearly five minutes of CPR, with me showing no sign of coming back, Finnick and Rye had tried to pull him away from me. Peeta had only paused long enough to shove Finnick into the alley wall and punch Rye in the face.

Then he continued to force my heart to beat and breathe air into my lungs. Two minutes later, I came back to him, gasping for air and completely unaware that I'd died in the first place. I will never be able to forget the look on Peeta's face when I opened my eyes. The desperation. The determination. The relief. Tears of despair became tears of joy.

At the memory, I feel overcome with a sense of gratefulness as I look upon my situation at this very moment. Lying in bed with Peeta, my back to his chest, safely secured in his arms. The feel of his warm breath against the back of my neck. The soft light of the early morning sun shining on my face through the window. The peaceful stillness of the house. Everything is perfect.

Suddenly, I feel soft lips on my bare shoulder. "Good morning," I say with a smile.

Peeta hums in agreement, before murmuring against my skin, "It's about to be."

Before I can protest, he's hovering over me and claiming my lips in a heated kiss. Even after twelve years with Peeta, he still makes my heart pound and my stomach flutter. I tangle my hands in his hair, keeping his lips glued to mine. Peeta's hands are already roaming my body, lingering in all the right places he knows so well. I allow my own hands to wander, caressing the broad expanse of his chest before moving further south to trace the chiseled muscles of his stomach. If anything, the last ten years have made Peeta's body even more desirable.

I am one lucky woman.

Peeta finally releases my lips, beginning to trail slow, wet kisses along my neck, sucking and nipping at the skin occasionally. I feel his hands slip beneath my shirt, caressing the soft skin of my stomach as he slowly inches my tank top higher and higher.

And then we freeze, our ears picking up the sound of shuffling little feet.

Peeta groans in defeat, burying his head in my neck. "Damn it," he mumbles. "They always ruin my plans."

I laugh quietly. "Remember? They're staying with Haymitch tonight."

"It's the only way I'll make it through the day."

Both of us fall silent again, listening intently to the hushed whispers just outside our door. "We have maybe five seconds," Peeta guesses. "If they're ruining my surprise, I'm going to ruin theirs. I'll take one. You take the other."

I gently shove him off of me and make myself presentable. "Well then close your eyes and pretend to be asleep!" I whisper quickly. Suddenly, I hear the door knob twist and dart back under the covers, lying on my side. I shut my eyes just as the door opens.

"Ssh!" a young voice whispers. "You get Mommy."

"Got it," another voice answers seriously. "On the count of three."

It takes all my self control not to laugh and keep my face expressionless.

"One."

I hear them creep closer to the bed.

"Two."

One of them is right in front of me. Perfect.

"Three!" Peeta and I suddenly shout, reaching out to grab the child that is in front of us. Immediately, the boys are squealing in laughter as Peeta and I throw them onto the bed between us. A tickle war begins, which Peeta and I always win.

After all, we've always been a great team.

"Surrender!" Peeta demands with a smile at the giggle-ridden Michael trapped in his arms.

"Never!"

"Come on," I laugh as Matthew continues to squirm in my arms, trying to twist away from my deadly, tickling fingers. "Give up!"

"Never!"

As the fun-filled seconds pass, I decide to side with my boys. "I want to join your team!" I declare. "What do you say, boys? Allies?"

The twins think it over for a minute, and I pretend not to see Peeta's narrowed eyes. He knows what's coming. Finally, the boys say in unison, "Allies!"

"Great! Now, let's get Daddy!"

The three of us converge on Peeta, who puts up a brave fight, but eventually falls to our tickling prowess. Minutes later, the four of us are lying in bed, breathing heavily. I take the moment to look over my boys, all three of them. Michael and Matthew's golden blonde hair matches Peeta's perfectly, although while his is curly, the twins' hair is straight. Their grey eyes mirror my own and dance with a playful, sly and mischievous light that instantly caused their kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Olive, to label them as troublemakers. She was right too, of course. My twins are trouble, but they're trouble of the best kind.

They're also a miracle. The bullet that killed me (however briefly) did some serious damage to one of my ovaries, so much so that it had to be removed. Due to other complications, Dr. Riley informed me that while I would still be able to conceive, the odds of a successful pregnancy were not in my favor. So when I told Peeta that I was pregnant five years later, both of us were excited and fearful. The pregnancy was tough. The morning sickness was terrible, and multiple times I had to be put on bed rest for fear of miscarrying.

But the twins and I made it through.

Peeta's eyes meet mine as Matthew snuggles closer to him. I know that he's thinking the same as I am. We share a smile.

Of course our moment of peace is interrupted, as a five year olds' energy never disappears, and within the next few minutes, both of them are jumping on the bed, chanting. "Get up!"

"We'll get up when we're good and ready!" Peeta replies with a grin before snatching Matthew from the air and hugging him tightly to his chest.

Michael turns to me and says seriously, "You have to hug me now. Mattie can't get more hugs than me."

"You have no shame," I mutter, before giving him a big hug that makes him laugh. "Now why don't we all get up and fix breakfast?"

"Yeah!"

But as Michael and I are climbing out of bed, Matthew suddenly asks Peeta, "Daddy, why do you have so many scars?"

I pause, freezing at the foot of the bed. At his brother's question, Michael leaves my side to climb back onto the bed to see what has captured his brother's attention. Together, both of them start to tentatively touch the plethora of scars that adorn Peeta's upper body. While some of the scars have faded over the years, others are still just as prominent as the day they were received. The two of us share a heavy look that the twins don't see, and I merely shrug. It's up to him to tell them what he wants.

"Daddy got into a big fight," he finally says. "It was really long and a lot of people were a part of it."

"Was Mommy with you?" Michael asks. "She's always with you."

Peeta smiles sadly. "No. This fight was just me."

"But you won, right?" Matthew asks earnestly with wide eyes. "You always win."

"Yeah, 'cause you're, like, super-strong, Daddy," Michael agrees.

Peeta and I share another look, both of us remembering that time. It still makes my heart ache to think of the month and a half that I spent without him, haunted by nightmares of his torture. To this day he still has flashbacks, but they're few and far between, and I'm always able to talk him through it. Luckily, neither Matthew nor Michael have ever been present during a flashback, and Lilly was too young when they occurred more often to remember them.

"Yeah, I won," Peeta finally answers. "Just not without a few . . . souvenirs."

Michael traces a long, thin scar along Peeta's collarbone with his finger. "Did it hurt?"

"A little," Peeta admits softly, before smiling. "But I'm, like, super-strong, remember?"

"Right," Michael nods seriously. "You're the best Daddy ever."

Matthew nods in agreement, and then looks to me. "Right, Mommy?"

I smile softly as my eyes meet Peeta's. "Yes, he is," I agree before shooing them both out of the room. "Now, let your Daddy get ready. We'll meet you in the kitchen."

"Okay!"

The twins rush out of the room in a flurry of stomping feet, leaving Peeta sitting on the edge of the bed, staring after them. He runs a head through his hair and looks at me wryly, "Guess we can't avoid that question any longer."

"Hey, they're right, you know," I tell him as I sit down next to him. I kiss his shoulder. "You're super-strong and the best Daddy ever."

Peeta chuckles, but quickly becomes serious. "What are we going to tell them?" he asks. "Honestly."

"When they're old enough, we'll tell them the truth," I say seriously. "When the time is right, they'll know everything that happened during the war. About the Games. Everything that we fought for. We'll tell them."

"And when they find out we're famous?" Peeta questions. "What then? You do realize we're actually in history books."

"We'll take it one day at a time," I say firmly. "That's a long way away, Peeta. But when the time comes, we'll tell them the truth. Now, put a shirt on and get downstairs."

"Nearly eleven years of marriage and you still order me around," he grumbles playfully. "It's like you use me."

"Hey, I told you a long time ago that I only want you for your body. You were forewarned."

I leave the room with a smile and walk down the hall of the second floor. Peeta's old studio is now Lilly's room, although that doesn't necessarily mean that the paint left the room. Lilly, now ten years old, inherited her father's artful skill. Together, they've painted her walls with whatever pictures she felt the need to create. It's their bonding time.

Silently, I open the door to her room and peer inside, smiling at the sight in front of me. Lilly sits propped up against her pillows, a sketchbook in her lap. Her hand grips a pencil, ghosting over the page in front of her. She looks so much like Peeta. As she grew, she just seemed to resemble him more and more. The only hint of me in her features is her raven black hair, but it isn't straight like mine. Her hair falls in princess curls down her back.

Sensing my presence, she glances up at me, her blue eyes curious. "Did Mattie and Michael attack you?"

"We were ambushed," I confirm. "But we won in the end."

Lilly nods, like it's exactly what she expected to happen. "They wanted me to help them," she explains. "But I wanted to finish this."

"Do you mind if I see?" I ask hesitantly. Sometimes she is just as secretive about her artwork as her father.

"Sure," she says and turns around the sketchbook so I can see. I smile at the sight of the lake. What used to be mine and Peeta's getaway has become a family retreat. Peeta and Rye built a small cabin on the shore, and we use it whenever we need to have time to ourselves. The kids simply like to go swimming.

"It's beautiful," I praise. "Are you going to show it to Dad?"

Lilly nods. "Yeah, but first I want to fix a few things."

I smile. She works so hard to please him. Peeta praises her endlessly, but Lilly is a perfectionist like me. While she looks like Peeta, she's inherited much of my personality. Stubborn, quiet, adventurous, and short-tempered. Thankfully, she didn't inherit my impulsiveness.

Regrettably, the twins did. Mischievous isn't a strong enough word for those two.

"Well, come down to breakfast when you're finished," I tell her, kissing the top of her head. "We've got a busy day today."

Today is Independence Day, the tenth anniversary of the Rebel's victory in the War of Panem. There's a big celebration today in the square, and naturally, Peeta and I have to be there. We may be able to avoid the Capitol, but here at home in District 12—at least on Independence Day—our neighbors refuse to let us fly under the radar. Peeta and I don't necessarily mind. Their intentions are good.

Breakfast, as usual, ends up being a complete mess. Michael and Matthew steal a handful of flour each when Peeta and I aren't looking and ambush Lilly when she comes into the kitchen. Lilly, of course, resorts to chasing the twins around the kitchen table, screaming at them the entire time. Knowing that they will be caught eventually, Matthew darts under the table while Michael seeks refuge behind me.

All the while, a pair of purple eyes watches the scene unfold with an exasperated air. Maya lies on her quilt in the corner, her head on her paws as she follows the three children running around the kitchen. Years ago, she would have joined them, chasing after them and playfully nipping at their heels; but time isn't on Maya's side anymore. After eleven years, she's old and not as spry as she used to be; however, that doesn't keep her from following loyally by my or Peeta's side whenever we go out.

After a few more minutes of children-induced chaos, a clear command from Peeta stops the ruckus immediately. When I first met Peeta, I thought I would be the strict parent. Peeta, at the time, seemed so care-free and cheerful that I simply couldn't imagine him ever holding any sort of authority. It's not to say that he wasn't authoritative back then, because he was. Just not like now. Peeta can command an entire room now. And he doesn't even need to use his gift for words. He just emits that aura now, commanding.

It's just another byproduct of his time in the Capitol dungeons.

After a flurry of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and an unfortunate incident with a stick of butter, breakfast passes smoothly for a typical morning in my house. I enlist Michael and Matthew for helping with clean-up, while Lilly takes the time to show Peeta her latest drawing. As I carefully hand another sudsy plate to Michael, who dutifully rinses it off, I smile at the soft, warm praise of Peeta's voice as he studies Lilly's drawing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her beaming with pride. The wide smile on her face reminds me of Peeta before the Capitol. It's the exact same care-free grin.

At noon we begin our walk toward town. Lilly walks ahead of us with Maya trotting by her side. Michael is sitting atop Peeta's shoulders and Matthew's little hand is held in mine. I glance around our surroundings, noting how much has changed over the years. The Victor's Village is no longer bare with the exception of Peeta and I and Haymitch. Instead of being reserved for victors of the Games, it became the place of residence for war heroes. Rye moved into the house next to ours and Hazelle and the kids took the house next door to Haymitch. A few other war heroes from other districts who decided to relocate to 12 after the war occupy the remaining houses. Each lawn is green and spotted with vibrant, flowery color. Children's toys litter the front lawns of some.

It's so different from when I first moved here all those years ago. It actually reflects life now. A happy life.

Peeta sets Michael on his own two feet as we enter the town. Although few can see it, I immediately notice the subtle change that comes over him as we slowly filter through the party crowd in town square. Even ten years after his torture, Peeta is still uneasy in big crowds. Too many threats to assess in too little time. Too many ways for him to be caught off guard. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he scans the crowd in his peripheral while at the same time keeping an eye on the kids. After a particular scare years ago, when Lilly wandered off on her own, he hasn't ever let his guard down again.

Peeta's protective, alert stance continues as we move through the crowd. People greet us jovially and express their thanks for all that we did with the war. The children don't understand why this is, they only know that their parents are very well-liked. Although, their innocent eyes see more than perhaps I know. Last year, a drunken fight at the punch table caused Peeta to intervene. He only needed to toss both men away from each other and give them a cold glare that could rival my own to end the fight. After observing the scene, Matthew had looked up and said, "They're scared of Daddy."

Yes, they were. Peeta's torture was no secret. How could it be? Especially in the first years after the war, when the flashbacks still plagued him, people were wary of him. They still are, and Peeta does nothing to assuage their feelings. It's to his advantage for them to respectfully fear him. He doesn't necessarily like it, but he knows the tactical value. Yet another trait carried over from his time in the Capitol. Always be vigilant. Always look for an attack. Protect your family.

I lace my fingers with his and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. Peeta's eyes meet mine briefly and he offers me a small smile before bringing our joined hands to his lips and placing a soft kiss on the back of my hand. Our hands stay clasped as we steer our brood toward a picnic table occupied by a few friendly faces. A pair of blue eyes light up when they spot us.

"And here we are folks! The Mellark family! Right in front we have the munchkin and the two devils! A mischievous lot they are! I take only partial credit. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm the reason they're so awesome. On our right you'll see the lovely leading lady. Sweetcheeks, I call her, but that's only because I'm so special. And on our left we have Mr. _Still_ Blonde, Buff, and Beautiful! He's also my brother, by the way." Wearing a cheeky grin, Rye ambles over and slaps Peeta on the shoulder. "Hey, babe."

Peeta rolls his eyes. "Will you ever grow up?"

"God, I hope not. Sounds so boring."

I laugh. "How Katie puts up with you, I'll never know."

Two years ago, Rye finally bit the bullet and got married to his girlfriend of four years, Katie Odair. Yes, she was Finnick's cousin. She was tall, nearly as tall as Rye with a lithe build and sandy blonde hair and the very same startling sea green eyes as Finnick. Rye met her when we made the trek to 4 to visit Finnick and Annie, who had just given birth to their second child, another boy. Rye and Katie's love story is incredibly short. Rye told a bad joke. Katie actually found it hilarious. They've been telling bad jokes together ever since.

"Lots of patience," Katie replies from her seat at the table. I don't blame her for not getting up to greet us. I sympathize with her nine month pregnant belly. Hauling yourself up with that big a stomach is more trouble than most realize.

I laugh. "Better you than me. I definitely picked the right brother. No offense Rye."

"Very little taken, sweetcheeks."

"Grandpa!"

Simultaneously, all our heads turn to watch as Lilly races over to her grandfather in all but blood. In a move they've perfected over the years, Lilly jumps into Haymitch's arms just as he tosses her up in the air. "Hey, sunshine." Haymitch smiles genuinely. "Long time no see."

"It was only yesterday!" Lilly retorts smartly. "You missed me already?"

"The very minute you left."

I smile as I watch the two of them interact. Haymitch has changed so much since I first met him on the train to the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. No longer is he a bumbling drunk. In fact, since Lilly was born, I haven't seen him drink a single glass of alcohol. He has another coping mechanism now, a healthier one and one that brings him more joy than any bottle of spirits ever could: Lilly, Michael, and Matthew. They've put a shine in his eye that only seems to brighten as the days pass. Now, don't get me wrong. There are still dark days. Days when he wants nothing but to be left alone so he can suffer the harsh memories of the Hunger Games and all his lost tributes in silence . . . but we all have those days. It's the price we pay for being Victors.

"Where are Mattie and Michael?" Rye frowns as he looks around.

Immediately, my back stiffens as my eyes begin to search frantically for my twins. Not again. Michael and Matthew are far too sneaky and have slipped away from me more times than I care to admit. The day they learned to walk, I learned a whole new meaning of the word 'worry.' Like when Michael tried to climb the banister when he was two. Or when I caught Matthew hiding in the cabinet under the sink after being worried to death for a solid fifteen minutes.

However, before I can fully work myself into a panic, Peeta squeezes my hand. My eyes meet his and he gives me a small smile before glancing surreptitiously under the picnic table. Michael and Matthew are wearing matching sly grins as they hide behind Katie's legs beneath the table. They wave cheerily at me before adopting an expression many would deem far too serious for a child of only five years. Slowly, they begin to inch forward toward an unsuspecting Rye.

"Seriously, where did they go?" Rye asks, getting worried. He looks around again, scanning the crowd. "Don't you think you should be panicky? Come on, let's panic together. It can be a family panic event."

"Is this how you're going to react Rye?" I ask. "When your kid gets here? It should be any day now."

"Oh, god," Rye's face pales. "Don't tell me that. I'm still getting used to the idea."

"Rye as a father." Peeta shakes his head. "Oh, brother."

"The horror that awaits," Haymitch agrees solemnly, causing Lilly to giggle.

All the while, the twins have been using our distraction to advance on their uncle. They're standing on the bench now, waiting to spring. "Oh, look I found them!" I exclaim and point behind him. Rye spins around in relief, only to be knocked to the ground by two flying blonde-haired missiles.

"Gotcha!" The twins squeal in unison.

Rye's expression is comical as he lays on the ground on his back, the twins perched atop his torso looking incredibly smug. "Wha—"

Michael smiles. "Hi, uncle Rye!"

"We were sneaky—" Matthew grins.

Michael nods. "—just like you—"

"—taught us," Matthew finishes.

"That's really creepy when you guys do that," Rye mumbles. "Is it a twin thing?"

Michael and Matthew merely stare and shrug.

"Okay, okay." Rye makes a shooing motion with his hand. "Get off me. You do realize you've started a war, right?"

Michael and Matthew nod. "We know the terms," they say in unison.

"Again, that's really creepy."

"Okay, boys," Peeta laughs. "Let him up."

After we're all settled at the table, we begin to devour the food that Rye and Katie had commandeered from the refreshment tables. Everyone is bright and talkative, the conversation mainly revolving around the impending birth of the newest Mellark. Katie and I compare notes and I assure her that everything will go smoothly when she confides her fears. After all, Dr. Riley is the best doctor in 12.

After the war, Dr. Riley was offered a prestigious position at a hospital in District 4, but she turned it down and chose to relocate to District 12 instead. She opened up a small clinic in town and her children and grandchildren help her run it, along with help from a certain very important person.

"Sorry we're late," Prim apologizes as she takes a seat on the other side of me. "Rory got distracted."

"I wasn't distracted!" Rory retorts as he takes a seat next to her. "I was absorbed."

"In an old car!"

"It's a classic!"

"It's a piece of junk!"

"Take it back!"

"Will you both shut up?" Peeta demands lightly. "Obviously, Prim is right. It's an old piece of junk." Before Rory can open his mouth to protest, Peeta adds, "But it won't be for long. It's a classic."

Thus, begins an hour long conversation between the boys about cars. Katie, Prim, and I merely shake our heads and indulge the men in our lives.

After we've all consumed far too much food, the Mayor of District 12, a man by the name of Mark Milkins, who was a commander from 12 in the war, takes the stage. On cue, everyone in the square falls quiet as he taps the microphone in front of him. We listen as he begins to speak of what all this day means, how all of the districts rose up to take back their freedom. He speaks of how we must honor those who died fighting for that freedom. At his words, my throat feels thick and my heart heavy as I think of the two people who I wish could still be with me: Gale and Johanna. How I wish they could still be alive. I wish that Johanna could be here with a sarcastic retort locked, loaded and ready to fire. I wish that Gale, my best friend, could be here to see his little brother marry Prim this coming summer. Selfishly, I wish both of them could be here for me, to add to the happiness that my life has become. I wish I could share it with them.

Peeta's arm wraps around my shoulders as he kisses my temple, and I lean further into his embrace, seeking the comfort that only he can give me.

The Mayor goes on to speak about Alma Coin and how it was her grit that helped guide us to victory and we honor her loss. Everyone at our table, with the exception of the children who are trying vainly not to squirm in impatience, share a look. We all know what really happened. Eventually, I told Prim, who told Rory. Rye told Katie. We all know that Alma Coin did not die in a tragic accident as her death was depicted. Her car was not ambushed by rogue Peacekeepers. Peeta and I, with the help of her guards, did not try courageously to fend them off. However, it's true that we could not save her. I was shot. Peeta was my savior. The Mockingjays triumphed one last time.

Commander Paylor assumed the presidency a few weeks later, having been elected by the people of Panem in the first ever democratic election. Her first order of business was to abolish the Hunger Games. Of course, the people of Panem do not know what went on behind the scenes. They don't know that we almost had one last Hunger Games, except with the Capitol children as tributes. It had come to a close vote. I had been the deciding vote. All it took for me to decide was looking down at Lilly in my arms.

Enough children had died. I voted against the Games.

And so the Hunger Games officially ended.

"And now," Mayor Milkins says with a slight smile. "I would like to ask Peeta Mellark to come up to the stage and say a few words."

Naturally, the suggestion is met with riotous applause and cheering. Michael and Matthew perk up and begin to urge their Daddy to go talk because, "It would be so cool!" Lilly is all for her father speaking as well saying, "Please Daddy?"

And being the strong man that he is, Peeta immediately caves to his daughter's wishes.

He gives me a quick kiss that makes the children cover their eyes in horror, and then begins to make his way through the crowd. When he reaches the stage, he and the Mayor shake hands and exchange a few words before Peeta steps up to the microphone.

"I'm doing this for my kids, so don't think you're all that special," he begins with a smile, causing everyone to laugh.

Peeta waits for everyone to quiet down but before he can speak the silence is broken as Lilly, Michael, and Matthew shout, "WE LOVE YOU, DADDY!"

Light laughter trickles through the crowd, and Peeta chuckles. "I love you, too," he says softly before seeming to be struck with inspiration. He addresses the crowd. "It's a crazy thing, isn't it? Love. It can happen in an instant and in the most unusual places. Trust me on that." Again, the crowd laughs. "Love is an amazing thing. It can change things. It can change people. It can change society. It can change a nation. Ten years ago, that's exactly what happened." Peeta take a moment to scan the crowd. His eyes land on mine. "Ten years ago, I fought for something . . .someone, really, and I don't think it's a big mystery as to who I'm talking about." Once again, the crowd laughs. "Katniss." Peeta's eyes meet mine once more and I know that his next words are just for me. "After all that we've been through, I really hope you know that I love you. Otherwise, I seriously need to sit down and regroup."

I laugh and mouth, "I love you, too" knowing that he will understand.

Peeta smiles. "I fought for love. I fought for my family. I fought for a better life for my kids. I fought for nothing different than all of you. And look where we are now. Ten years of peace!" Everyone erupts into cheers and applause. "If there is one thing that I hope to teach my kids, it's that love is greater than anything real or imagined. Of course, I know this because a wise woman once told me that love was a gift. It's true. Love is a great gift, and I hope that all of us can continue to use that gift, to cherish that gift. Because without love, we have nothing. Nothing to fight for. Nothing to strive for." Peeta takes a deep breath. "Love is what kept me alive. It's what gave me strength. It's what I believe in more than anything. Love is worth fighting for. It's what brought us to where we are today. And that, I think, has made all the difference."

Peeta steps back from the microphone, giving the crowd a slight wave as everyone erupts into cheers, whistles, and applause. Eventually, after shaking hands with multiple people as he tries to make his way back to us, he plops down beside me with a heavy sigh.

"Babe, that had me in tears." Rye theatrically wipes a tear from his eye. "Oh, it was so beautiful."

"Shut up."

"He's right, you know," I say softly. "It was beautiful. And I do love you, though sometimes I wonder why."

"Thanks," Peeta replies wryly, but nonetheless gives me a gentle kiss. He pulls away and then whispers huskily in my ear, "I'll just have to remind you why later."

I shiver. When is this thing over, again?

The rest of the celebration passes by in a happy blur. Michael and Matthew run off with Rye under the guise of "lessons in pranking." And I will swear before President Paylor herself that I have no idea who stole Mayor Milkins pants after he good naturedly agreed to participate in the Dunk Tank.

Lilly sits in Peeta's lap, curled into his chest, as she fights not to drift off to sleep after playing a long-lasting game of freeze tag with her friends. Rye eventually wonders back with the twins in tow, and I pretend not to notice their muddy clothes that I'll have the pleasure of washing later. Michael comes over to me and nestles into my side. I kiss the top of his head and smile as I notice Matthew can hardly keep his eyes open as he rests in Rye's arms.

"I wore them out," he says proudly. "Be thankful."

"Oh, I am. Haymitch is, too."

Haymitch looks up from his conversation with Peeta. "Talkin' about me, sweetheart? Only say nice things. There are children present."

"Not for long," I retort. "They're staying with you tonight."

Katie's eyes light up. "Good. You two need some time to yourselves."

Prim nods in agreement. "Really, Katniss. You need a break."

"What about me?" Peeta asks in mock outrage. "I have to put up with the kids _and_ Katniss."

I scoff. "Please. Who was rolling around with them on the floor yesterday fighting monsters?"

Peeta lifts his chin arrogantly. "They were dragons. Not monsters. And I slew three by the way. I saved the kingdom."

"My husband, the Dragon Slayer," I say dryly. "Fantastic."

Katie smiles. "I can only imagine the games Rye will come up with once ours gets here," she says as she rests a tender hand on her stomach.

Rye waggles his eyebrows. "Baby, you have _no_ idea."

After another hour of conversation, the sun begins to sink lower in the sky and all of us decide to call it a day. After parting with smiles and laughter, it's just me, Peeta, Haymitch, and the kids. Maya sits beside me, leaning against my leg as I scratch her behind the ears. Peeta and I go over some last minute things with Haymitch in order to prepare him for the chaos that stems from having three small children in your house, particularly when you have a devious set of twin boys. After assuring us, yet again, that he has it covered, Haymitch shifts Michael in his arms and calls for Matthew and Lilly, who come running over. "Let's go, kids," he says. "Say bye to Mom and Dad."

"Bye Mommy." The twins rush over to me and hug me tightly.

I give them both a kiss. "Be good, you two," I order firmly, but with a smile. "I love you."

They giggle and reply, "Love you more!"

"Love you most."

Lilly gives both Peeta and I a hug and whispers something in Peeta's ear that makes him chuckle and tickle her sides, causing her to squeal in delight. He kisses the top of her head and then gently pushes her toward Haymitch who's waiting with an outstretched hand.

"Come on, Maya!" Lilly commands and Maya immediately springs forward to obey the order. Lilly takes Haymitch's hand while the other rests along Maya's back as she walks beside her.

Peeta and I watch them walk away in silence. Only once they're out of sight do we turn and begin a leisurely walk through the town. Peeta wraps his arm around me, tucking me into his side. I wrap my arm around his waist, hooking my fingers into the belt loop of his jeans. As we walk through the town, I take in all the new sights. So much has changed in ten years. All the buildings are new and fresh since nothing was salvageable after the bombing. Some are still under construction; plans are being made for more.

We pass the bakery that Peeta and Rye reopened eight years ago. It's where I spend most of my time. I man the counter while Peeta and Rye work their baking and pastry magic. Business is good. I have my own little side business, of course, and that's hunting. It's no longer illegal and while there is still a fence that surrounds District 12, this new fence has a gate. One that I can pass through anytime I please.

As we make our way through what used to be the Seam, I can't help but feel a slight pang in my heart. So many people died here. Friends. We pass by where my old house used to be. In its place is a freshly painted white house with blue shutters. A white picket fence covered with climbing roses borders the small green yard. It will be Prim and Rory's house once they're married.

When we reach the Meadow that's now been turned into a park—complete with slides, swings, a jungle gym, and other parksy things—I finally speak. "You think they'll give Haymitch a hard time?"

Peeta chuckles. "Definitely."

I smile. "The twins will get him up at five in the morning."

"Lilly will want waffles."

"Michael hates waffles."

"And Matthew will stick with his clone, so they'll revolt."

"Which will spawn a waffle batter war."

"In which Haymitch will lose."

Peeta and I laugh at the eventful morning Haymitch is sure to have. "I almost feel bad for him," I say with a smile.

"Almost. Key word, there."

We wave at Bennie Goodman, the guard at the gate. He smiles and without a word opens the gate to let us into the woods. If it's even possible, I relax even more as I let the greenery of the forest surround me. Peeta and I are silent as we trek through the woods, enjoying the sounds of the birds and the insects. The mockingjays flit around us and Peeta whistles his own little tune that they sing back to him after a moment of debate.

"However much trouble those damn birds caused us," he says with a wry smile. "I kinda like them."

I just laugh.

Eventually, we make it to the lake. The sun is just setting over the water, making it seem to glow with swirls of pink and orange and yellow. The stars in the sky slowly start to sparkle as the sun continues to descend and we make our way around the edge of the lake to the cabin. It's nothing too amazing, although Peeta and Rye turned out to be surprisingly good contractors. The cabin has a small kitchen and living area, along with our bedroom. A ladder leads up to the loft that is surrounded by a tall railing. That's the kids' realm.

The moment the door closes behind me, Peeta's lips seek mine. The kiss is unhurried, wonderfully languid and delightfully teasing. When we separate, I simply smile and rest my head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as his arms hold me tightly to him. We stand in the middle of the cabin, holding each other for a few minutes. If there's anything when it comes to intimacy that we've learned over the years, it's that there is no rush. Of course, back then we were, admittedly, extremely hormonal teenagers who were pretty sure we were going to die. In the back of our minds, we thought that each time we made love might very well be our last.

Bu it's different now. Now, we have all the time in the world.

"I love you," Peeta says softly, breaking the silence.

"I know," I reply. I pull away slightly so I can look up at him. "I love you, too."

"Great! Let's get naked."

"Peeta!" I chastise although I'm caught in a fit of giggles.

"What?" Peeta grins as his hands slip beneath my shirt. He kisses me lightly. "The kids are gone." He pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it without a care behind him. His lips graze my collarbone. "That means no interruptions."

I laugh. "What a foreign concept."

"Exactly my point. We should cherish this moment."

"By getting naked."

"See? Now, you're getting it."

"I hope so."

"Don't tempt me, beautiful," Peeta replies lightly as he playfully nips the skin of my neck. By now, we've made it to the bedroom. Suddenly, Peeta tosses me up and both of us land in the middle of the bed laughing. However, my laughter suddenly becomes a moan as Peeta's lips capture mine. We kiss slowly, but passionately. I try to force my fingers to cooperate and undo the buttons of Peeta's shirt, but when he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth I lose my concentration completely.

Damn, he's a good kisser.

I finally rip the shirt open in my frustration, sending buttons flying everywhere. Peeta pulls back and chuckles before attaching his lips to my neck. From there, he begins a trail of kisses down my body, removing all the clothes that get in his way. His lips retrace their route, lingering in places, using every bit of skill he's gained over the years. Trust me when I say that's a lot of skill.

His lips finally meet mine once more, and I tangle my hands in his hair to make sure he's not going anywhere anytime soon. The moment his lips part, I deepen the kiss and our tongues begin a sensual dance we've both perfected by now. I allow my hands to roam over his bare torso, my fingers automatically seeking out the many scars that I now know by heart. I caress them, love them, to show him that I haven't forgotten, nor will I ever forget, all that he suffered to save me and Lilly.

The love we make is sweet and slow, playful and light. We laugh and sigh contentedly, holding each other as close as we can. When we finally collapse against the pillows, our breathing delightfully labored, we simply smile. Peeta pulls me into his arms, his lips ghosting over my shoulder to nuzzle my neck. We lay peacefully in each other's arms, and I revel in the happiness that seems to tingle throughout my entire body.

All the carnage, all the horror of the Hunger Games, the Quarter Quell, the Rebellion . . . all of it was worth it.

Because although it was the darkest of times, I found a light. A warm, loving light that saved me. Peeta's love. Love that changed me. Molded me. Love that made me a better person.

Peeta is right. Love is worth fighting for.

And it truly makes all the difference.

_And the curtain falls_.

* * *

**And there we go. :)**

**You guys didn't honestly think I would kill Katniss? Well, _permanently_ kill her at least. No. She can die briefly, but that's it. Besides, Peeta shall always be around to save the day! **

**So! That's it, folks! Just in case you're wanting a bit more background: This is set ten years into the future, Katniss and Peeta are both 28, while the twins Michael and Matthew are five. Lilly is 10. Lilly is a miniature girl version of Peeta, but her personality is all Katniss. Michael and Matthew are a sort of even split between Peeta and Katniss in both looks and personality, although they have a fondness for pranks and mischief brought on by everyone's favorite uncle. Michael is the oldest by two minutes and inherited Katniss's singing talent, while Matthew (in a few years) will prove that he's unmatched with a bow. Prim is the head of surgery at Dr. Riley's clinic. While her arm is severely scarred from her burns, she made a miraculous recovery (take that Capitol doctors!). She and Rory, both 24, will be married next summer. Rye (30) and Katie (27) are expecting their first baby any day now. Rye helps Peeta out at the bakery while Katie teaches swimming at the local pool (yes, D12 has made some wonderful progress). Hazelle and the rest of the Hawthorne clan were provided with a house in the Victor's Village in Gale's honor. Dr. Riley moved to District 12 after the war and opened up her own clinic, which she runs with her family and Prim. She has also become a surrogate grandmother to the Mellark children. Haymitch has been transformed into a softy due to his grandkids and spoils them rotten with great glee, although his inner demons still haunt him.**

**Long summary short: They lived happily ever after, the odds finally in their favor.**

**Once again, thank you so much for all of your love and support throughout this entire series. It's been a blast, guys. These past three years have meant more to me than I ever thought they would, and that's due in no small part to you guys. So, thank you. Truly. **

**I guess I can't prolong this any longer. I'm signing off. Drop me one last review. ;)**

**Lots of love, Always,**

**AC**


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